


Lake Effect

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [28]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brothership, Gen, Gen Fic, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rehearsals, finishing college applications, and the things that get snowed out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

Rina’s many things, but she’s not a fool. When she gets a text asking her to find someplace for her and Hannah to be for several hours the next afternoon, she knows what Noah wants. She supposes she should be appalled or angry; that she should refuse his request.

She knows Noah, though, recognizes the signs that he’s on edge, and for whatever reason, the more time he has with Kurt, especially time when they’re alone, the less on edge he is. Watching him on Thanksgiving was eye-opening; he relaxed more and more the longer he was with Kurt, until by the time she took Hannah home, it was like he was almost unrecognizable.

Oh, she calls him Noah, but she recognizes that he chose the name Puck like a piece of armor. The more he’s with Kurt, though, the more she truly sees Noah again.

So when he asks for the apartment for a few hours, she finds a reason to drag Hannah out of the house, and when he asks for things that involve Kurt, she says yes, and when he leaves on the most ridiculous pretexts, clearly just to get a little time with Kurt, she doesn’t say a word.

Rina tries hard, but she knew long ago that she’d failed Noah on some level. He’s not broken, though, only rough around the edges, and if he’s found his sandpaper, well. Rina’s not going to take that away.

 

Quinn hears them talking. She’s suspected the other squads do it, but this is the first time she’s actually overheard it. Of course, most of them don’t know who it is--Quinn quit the Cheerios before she started showing--but hearing the two Defiance cheerleaders talking about it, Quinn feels like she has a giant sign painted on her abdomen that says “there used to be a baby in here.”

The curly-haired brunette and the (Quinn notices critically) slightly too chubby for her uniform blond cheerleader have their heads close as they giggle and gossip, but Quinn can hear them. She has some kind of sonar with it comes to the P-word, maybe, because she always seems to magically hone on conversations about pregnancy. She’s chalked it up to self-consciousness about her body; it’s easier to think it bothers her because somebody noticed the flab on her belly than it is to to blame the disquiet on anything else.

“What did she do with it?” the chubby girl asks.

“I heard she sold it to some rich couple,” the curly-haired girl says, and really, that hair is almost worthy of Jacob Ben Israel. Hasn’t she ever heard of a flat iron? “Though, I don’t know how much good that would have done her. I mean, she would still be off the squad!”

“Do you think they let knocked-up cheerleaders cheer in college?” the chubby one giggles.

“Please, like some slut with a love baby in high school is going to college,” the girl with the, no seriously, that’s practically a fro, snorts.

“Love baby?” Really? Quinn lifts her head. What they’re saying is so far removed from Quinn’s image of herself that she’s not even going to dignify it. It has nothing to do with _her_. They may as well be talking about somebody else, Quinn decides. That’s not me. That’s some other girl.


	2. Episode 3x12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schuester's bright ideas, rehearsals and avoiding them, and what the Great Lakes are good for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [playlist for this episode](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2C31D9A403201E25)

Puck shakes his head irritably and rubs his hand over his eyes. Generally, he doesn’t mind his job that much. People are usually friendly, and by now, he has almost everything down to muscle memory. He’s good at it, and he’s fine with the idea of working there throughout college. On occasion, though, there will be a customer or two that makes him want to poke their eyes out.

It’s just Puck’s bad luck that he’s worn out, on his fifth day of working all morning, and he was up way too late the night before, first with rehearsal and then helping Kurt sort out all of his packages. The only good thing about the morning so far is that his hands were at least warm on the way in. Puck is pretty sure the gloves Kurt got him were not, in fact, a mere $35, but since the receipt mysteriously disappeared between the store and Kurt’s house, he can’t really dispute it.

Puck sighs and sends a last glare in the direction the last customer went, cursing their existence. Luckily, they were from out of town, traveling, and half of their complaint was how hard it was to find a Starbucks in this part of Ohio. It’s not Puck’s fault that the Starbucks is inside the hospital lobby.

Puck has a feeling the week ahead is going to suck, though, and that the customers are merely a harbinger of things to come. He gets a text from Kurt at quarter of two and adds it to the list of signs.

 _Almost finished with last vest, will be 5-10 min late. So sorry baby :( xx_

Puck shakes his head. Kurt was determined to finish all of the sewing in one morning, and Puck understands why, so he’s not upset, but still. Just another sign.

 _No prob K :) xx_

Puck changes there, because he’d honestly thought it was a possibility, and heads out ten minutes after two, just in time to see Kurt pull up.

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt apologizes, but Puck shakes his head and waves it off.

“Not a problem, Kurt. Did you finish?”

“Yes, thankfully.” Kurt sighs. “This week...”

“...is gonna suck?”

“Yes,” Kurt chuckles ruefully. “Exactly.”

“Well. I know one thing that might make it a little better.”

“Oh?”

“I sort of told my mom yesterday that she and Hannah needed to find something else to do until around five.”

Kurt’s lips curve upward slowly. “Genius, baby.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that,” Puck grins. “You want to push down on that accelerator just a little harder?”

“Oops,” Kurt says, not sounding sorry at all, and Puck laughs, Kurt joining in after a moment.

They keep laughing as Kurt parks and they head up the stairs, Puck quickly checking to confirm that the apartment is empty once he unlocks the door. “Ohh, send your song to Schue,” Kurt says, still grinning, as they head into Puck’s bedroom.

“Sent it from my phone during my break,” Puck confirms. “You?”

“Yeah, I sent it this morning.” Kurt’s reply is muffled as he pulls his sweater over his head, and Puck grins, taking off his own sweatshirt and reaching for his jeans. “God, we act like we’re two teenage boys,” Kurt says with a grin, unfastening his own pants.

“There might be a reason for that,” Puck laughs, pulling off the rest of his clothes and lying down on the bed. He props himself up on his elbows and watches Kurt slide out of his pants before slowly removing his underwear and stepping over to the bed.

“Good point.” Kurt lies down next to Puck, on his side, and then closes the gap between them, lips clashing against Puck, hard. Kurt’s tongue follows, caressing Puck’s, and then Puck’s flat on his back, Kurt on top of him. Puck puts his arms loosely around Kurt’s waist, responding to Kurt’s kiss, and decides that maybe his mom and Hannah need to have a standing appointment on Sunday afternoons.

Kurt lowers himself slowly, and Puck thrusts up, their erections rubbing together, and Puck’s not sure which of them is moaning and which is merely catching the sound. Puck repeats the motion, then settles into a rhythm, Kurt matching it after a moment, their mouths still on each other. After a few moments, Puck breaks the kiss, going for the spot behind Kurt’s ear, and Kurt shudders above him before increasing his speak.

“Oh, god, Puck,” Kurt gasps, and Puck pulls away for a moment to look at Kurt, face flushed and eyes closed, before returning his lips to Kurt’s, thrusting up quickly to meet Kurt’s increasingly desperate movements. Puck’s arms wrap more tightly around Kurt, pulling him close as possible, and then Kurt comes, shuddering and breaking their kiss to cry out. Puck latches onto Kurt’s shoulder and thrusts up hard until he comes as well, whatever sounds he’s making muffled by Kurt’s skin and sinew. Kurt lies on top of him, both of them boneless and breathing heavily.

Puck turns his head into Kurt’s neck, rubbing against it, and sighs, content.

“You need to send your mom and Hannah away more often,” Kurt mumbles as the silence stretches.

Puck grins and presses a kiss to Kurt’s neck. “I agree completely, blue eyes.”

Kurt breathes steadily against Puck’s scalp for another long moment before he speaks again. “I want to be inside of you.”

“I’m on board with that,” Puck nods, and his cock twitches at the thought.

“Slow,” Kurt amends, after a moment, and then his mouth presses softly on Puck’s head. “Slow and deep.”

Puck closes his eyes and moistens his lips. “Yeah,” he responds, suddenly incapable of thought much beyond that. “Yeah.”

Kurt raises himself up a little, and Puck turns onto his side, twisting his head to grab a kiss, which Kurt deepens before pulling away and rifling through Puck’s drawer. Puck suddenly snorts back a laugh, imagining if he and Kurt tried to hide presents from each other the same way Kurt hid Finn’s; it’d be the first thing they found, without even looking. Puck still has to get Kurt’s gifts from Rachel, anyway, and he figures he should wrap them right away, no matter how annoying wrapping presents is.

Puck pushes against Kurt as he slides the first slicked finger inside, slowly pulling Kurt inside of him and groaning a little when Kurt removes it. “No,” he whines, knowing Kurt’s going to smile.

“Shh,” Kurt says, and then two fingers inside Puck. Puck sighs a little, relaxing around them, and Kurt’s lips press against his shoulder. They trail down each shoulder blade as his fingers move inside Puck, and Puck closes his eyes, letting his body fully collapse into Kurt’s hands and mouth. A third finger slides inside Puck, and he rolls his hips back.

Kurt moves steadily, stroking Puck from the inside as he licks and nips at Puck’s back, and Puck’s long been fully hard again before Kurt pauses and giggles a little. “Don’t let anyone see your back tonight, baby.”

Puck snorts. “‘Kay.” He turns his head to the side, and Kurt responds immediately, their lips fusing together and moving languidly, Kurt’s fingers still pumping slowly in and out of Puck until Puck can’t wait any longer and he moves his head again. “Kurt, please. _Need_ you.”

“Yeah, yes,” Kurt breathes out, and Puck hisses as Kurt removes his fingers and then nudges Puck’s leg up before replacing the fingers with his cock, pushing in slowly but firmly, and Puck moves his pelvis again, trying to help him in, until Kurt is fully in. “Ohh, so fucking good,” Kurt murmurs. “Is it good, baby?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Puck grunts, eyes still closed. He’s so hard it’s almost painful, but he’s not sure he even wants Kurt to move yet. “Stay, so full.”

“Mmm, you’re so.” Kurt’s pause to gasp out a breath is the only hint of loss of composure. “So tight,” he continues. “Wish I could–”

“ _Yes_ ,” Puck responds, tightening around Kurt and relishing the way Kurt’s fingers dig into his leg, just a little, and when he repeats it, they dig in a little farther and Puck knows he’s going to have a bruise there, too.

Kurt starts to move then, and it’s slow and torturous, his cock brushing against Puck’s prostate and then he plunges back in hard before dragging out slowly again. His lips are whispering and murmuring words and phrases that Puck can’t really make out, or maybe he just can’t comprehend, because his body just feels that good.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he cries out a few moments later, Kurt’s hand leaving his leg and closing around Puck’s already-leaking cock. Kurt’s grip is tight and sure, and as much as Kurt said ‘slow’ and sure, they already came once, but they’re eighteen and Puck’s not going to last much longer.

Kurt’s hand slides up and down Puck’s cock, thumb gliding over the tip. He twists his wrist slightly and Puck thrusts up into Kurt’s hand at the same time Kurt pushes fully in once more, and Puck comes hard, yelling out and clenching around Kurt. Kurt’s motions grow increasingly frantic and less coordinated until he comes, too, crying out before slumping against Puck’s back.

“How much will Finn hate us if we miss rehearsal?” Puck mumbles after a few moments have passed, Kurt’s arm still draped over him.

Kurt laughs, low and pleased. “I don’t know if anyone would ever find our bodies, baby.”

“Damn.” Puck shakes his head. “It’s our own damn fault, too.”

“Yeah.” Kurt kisses Puck’s back, then makes his way up to his neck before pulling away. “We should clean up.”

“Does that require moving?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Damn.” Puck turns and curls his hand around Kurt’s head, pulling him close and running his tongue along Kurt’s lips until they part underneath it. Puck keeps kissing him as long as he can, relishing the taste of Kurt on his tongue and the feel of Kurt’s lips on his. When Puck finally pulls away, he runs his hand down Kurt’s arm and takes his hand, pulling Kurt with him towards the bathroom. It’s too close to when his mom and Hannah might be home to do anything but just shower, but Puck’s shower is a little smaller than Kurt’s, and they press close together under the hot spray.

Kurt giggles again and traces his hand down Puck’s back as they get dressed. “Sorry, baby.”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t have any _visible_ hickeys,” Kurt explains. “But your back is, um. A little marked.”

Puck laughs. “I could have, I don’t know. Ran into something at work.”

“Big delivery,” Kurt nods solemnly. “Definitely.”

They lie back on the bed, now clothed, before Kurt sits up, looking a little alarmed. “What if we’re in the first group to sing?”

“Ugh.” Puck rolls over and then sits up, going over to the computer. “Guess we should check.”

Kurt pulls out his phone and then guffaws. “Well.”

“You going tomorrow?”

“Mmmhmm. With ‘Wind Beneath My Wings.’”

“That’s...”

“Interesting. It’s interesting,” Kurt asserts. “You?”

Puck turns back to the computer and nods with a frown. “Yeah. Huh. ‘Round Here,’ Counting Crows.”

“I don’t think I know it.”

Puck pulls it up on YouTube, and they listen through it once. He shrugs. “Shouldn’t be too hard, anyway.”

“Spontaneity!”

Puck snorts. “Yeah. Let’s go see what spontaneously appears for dinner.” He pushes away from his desk and stands, throwing his arm around Kurt. He can hear his mom’s key in the lock just a moment later, and Hannah barrels in, giving them both a hug. Rina’s eyes flick to Kurt’s still-damp hair but doesn’t say anything else, just walks into the kitchen while Hannah drags them to the couch to discuss the latest eight year old drama.

After dinner, they drive to get Finn before heading to Rachel’s, and Puck texts him as they cross over the river, in hopes that Finn wasn’t already standing outside in the snow.

 

Finn knows Kurt will probably make fun of him for waiting out on the porch, and chalk it up to Finn's impatience or lack of common sense. Which, Finn _is_ impatient and he knows he doesn't have as much common sense as some people. The shoes in the George Foreman grill incident is probably a good example of that.

So yeah, it's partially Finn's impatience, but there's also a part of Finn that loves those first few snowfalls of the year, before the snow gets all grey and nasty, and before it's been on the ground for so long that you've forgotten what yard looks like, and you start having these dreams where every surface is covered in white board and all of the white boards have song assignments for songs Finn can't seem to find on Google. Or maybe that last part is _just_ Finn. Anyway, he loves the first few snows.

It's peaceful out on the porch, with the snow piled up all smooth and sparkly across the front lawn, and little snowflakes flurrying all around and landing on Finn's face. Finn could use some peace right now. Oh, sure, everything _seems_ great, but in Finn's head, he can feel something there, like pressure, building and making that high-pitched noise like the tea kettle his mom used to have. They have an electric kettle now, but that whistling sound is still in the back of Finn's mind, telling him _move_ , _go_ , _do something_. It's not really a voice--Finn's not crazy or anything--but it's a feeling. An uncomfortable, pressure-building feeling, and Finn feels like no matter how much he does, no matter how busy he stays, he can't let that pressure off. He can't quieten that whistling noise.

Finn is glad that Sectionals is coming up on Saturday. He's glad for the regional quarterfinals on Friday. He thrives on the planning and the preparation. Every glee rehearsal he can sneak into the schedule makes him feel the tiniest extra bit of relief from the irritating pressure in his brain. If he can just pull this off. If he can just be good _enough_.

Finn isn't a worrier like Puck or a thinker like Kurt. He doesn't dwell on things or mull things over. If something needs done, he tries to do it. If something needs changed, he tries to change it. If it can't be changed, then Finn just does his best not to think about it. That's mostly worked. He's not repressing it or anything; he knows it still exists and doesn't try to pretend it doesn't. He just doesn't bother to pay attention to it if there's nothing to be done for it.

Still, sometimes that high pitched tea kettle noise is enough to make someone want to throw himself down on the snow and lie there until it piles up on top of him. Finn read once about how huskies can do that and don't freeze to death, but just be a warm little ball in the middle of the snow, insulated from everything out in the real world, and Finn thinks that would be pretty awesome.

He gives himself an experimental flop into the snow, but it's cold and he doesn't think he can really lie there long enough for it to cover him up, and they do have the quarter finals and Sectionals coming up, so he settles for making a snow angel and waiting for Kurt and Puck to come pick him up for rehearsal.

 

Finn is, of course, already standing out in the snow, looking only mildly disgruntled. The yard has a large, roughly Finn-sized and Finn-shaped indentation in it. “Hey guys,” Finn huffs, as he opens the back door to the Nav. His cheeks and nose are bright red.

“Get bored?” Kurt asks, gesturing at the Finn-dentation in the snow.

“It’s my snow angel!” Finn grins. “Isn’t it great?”

“That’s no snow angel. That’s an abominable snowFinn,” Puck snorts.

“Hey, that’s not...well, no, ok. Yeah, you’re probably right.” Finn’s spirits seem undampened.

“Just for the record,” Kurt states. “We considered skipping tonight. Only the threat of murder dragged us out.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t have been acceptable,” Finn says, mildly. “I would have hunted you down and done some kind of bodily harm, probably.”

“That would be why we’re here.”

“Smart guys,” Finn says, nodding.

“So what’s our marching orders, benevolent dictator?” Puck asks, amused.

“Hey, I’m not benevolent!” Finn protests. “I’m totally nice, even when I’m--and hey, wait, I don’t dictate. I _direct_.”

“Dude. Do you even know what benevolent means?”

“Bossy, right?”

“No, that’s your girlfriend,” Kurt retorts.

“Yeah, that’s true, too,” Finn agrees, jovially. “But I’m not bossy.”

“Luckily for you, benevolent doesn’t mean bossy. Or not-nice,” Puck shakes his head. “Seriously, dude. Your lack of vocabulary aside. What are we doing?”

“Besides trying on costumes,” Kurt interjects.

“It’s a dress rehearsal, guys,” Finn explains, slowly, like they don’t quite understand what that term means. “You put on your costumes. Then you rehearse in them. It’s not complicated.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Dude, it’s no big deal,” Finn says. “Seriously, we’ve been doing these songs for like two months now. The only difference is the clothes.”

Puck ignores Finn and turns to Kurt. “ _That’s_ what you meant earlier. Shit.”

Kurt laughs, shaking his head. “I thought you realized.”

“No, I didn’t!” Puck protests.

“Realized _what_?” Finn seems completely lost.

“If anyone asks, you were there,” Puck says, looking at Finn. “I totally, um. Bruised my back on... something.”

“What? You...oh, _seriously_?” Finn snorts. “I was _not_ there. I’m not even pretending to have been there, ‘cause no matter what you say caused it, I’ll know what caused it, and then I won’t be able to not think about being there. So, just, no.”

“Did you understand that?” Puck asks, looking at Kurt, who shakes his head.

“I think it was something along the lines of him watching us.”

“Ew, dude.”

“Just stop talking now, please,” Finn groans.

“You asked,” Puck points out as they pull up in front of Rachel’s. “How much is there to carry, K?”

“Two big boxes. I’m sure each of you can carry one,” Kurt smiles sweetly.

“I can carry one,” Finn offers. “I’ll carry the heavier one, ‘cause of Puck’s back injury and all.”

“Aww, thanks, man,” Puck says, mock-sheepishly. “I just don’t know if I coulda handled it.”

“Yeah, that was some fall you took, right? I totally heard it from the other side of the house,” Finn says, sympathetically. “It sounded _really loud_.”

“Oh, it was loud.” Puck smirks and picks up the slightly smaller box. “Very loud indeed.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Finn mutters. “I would imagine so.”

Kurt shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Come along, you two.” He knocks on the door and smiles. “Hello, Leroy.”

“Hello, gentlemen,” Leroy says, formally. “Kurt, always a pleasure. Puck, good to see you again. Finn.”

“Hey, Mr. Leroy,” Finn says, a little sheepishly, and Puck decides he needs to ask Finn about it later.

“Hey,” Puck nods, and then they all head down to the basement. Puck just can’t quite bring himself to call it the “Oscar room,” even in his head.

“Oh, good! You’re here!” Rachel greets them as soon as the first shoe is visible, at least as far as Puck can figure.

“Hi, Rach,” Finn says, leaning over to peek around the walls. “How’s it going tonight?”

“Very well! Ooh, are those our costumes?”

“They are,” Kurt confirms. “Would you like to try yours on now?”

“Yes!” Rachel hurries over to the larger box and waits impatiently for Kurt to find her shoes, ruffly thing, and dress, after which she scurries off to a small bathroom.

“Hey, how are we going to work this? One at a time, or send the girls upstairs or what?”

“Hmm,” Finn hums, twisting his mouth up in thought. “Puck, would _you_ prefer to go on and change before other people get here? ‘Cause of your _injury_?”

“Hey, we’re all dudes, we could all change right now.”

Finn shrugs. “Whatever you say. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He starts pulling off his shirt and rifling through the box, almost simultaneously.

Kurt pushes him gently away. “Stop it, you oaf.” He reaches in and pulls out a bag, handing it to Puck, and then hands a second to Finn before reaching back in for his own.

Puck shrugs and switches out his pants first, before Rachel reappears, because gay or not, he does _not_ want to explain three guys in underwear alone with Rachel to her dads. Kurt does the same before they each remove their shirts.

Finn, however, blithely stands there in his boxer shorts, fumbling with the packaging and then trying to match up the buttons on the shirt. When Rachel comes out of the bathroom in her dress, Finn is standing there in a half-buttoned black shirt, a pair of powder blue pin-striped boxer shorts, and tall white athletic socks. He sees Rachel standing there in her red dress, and his hands drop away from his buttons. “Wow, Rachel, you look in incredible!”

“Finn!” Rachel puts her hand to her mouth. “You’re, um. Half-dressed.”

“I’m totally giving him my ‘I’m With Stupid’ shirt for Hanukkah,” Puck mutters to Kurt.

“We all need one of those,” Kurt responds quietly, slipping his arms into his shirt.

“What?” Finn asks, then looks down, and laughs. “Oh! Right!” He blushes a little and then quickly grabs the pair of pants and pulls them on. “Sorry.”

“Oh, Noah, what happened to you?”

Puck flushes and pulls on his own shirt really quickly, not looking directly at Rachel. Finn makes the strangling, coughing noise that he hasn’t made in quite a while, and rapidly turns his attention to finishing the buttons on his shirt.

“Back injury,” Kurt says smoothly. “It was loud.”

“Awful,” Finn shakes his head, still not looking up from his buttons. “Just awful.”

“Oh. Will you be okay to dance, Noah?” Rachel asks, her voice full of concern.

“I’ll be fine,” Puck insists, smiling tightly. “All right, where’s those vests, K?”

“Here you go,” Kurt hands him one, then tosses Finn’s before putting on his own.

“Are you sure we can’t get away without a tie for the rest of the year?”

“Pretty sure. Besides, I thought there were other perks?” Kurt asks archly.

Puck just smirks and pulls on the vest.

Finn has put on his vest and is strutting around the room in a martial pose, fists clenched to his chest. “Look at me! I’m Mr. Schue!”

“You can’t be,” Puck disagrees. “Not enough curl in that hair, dude.”

“Nor not quite enough love for Journey above all else,” Kurt adds.

“I will never stop believin’, dude,” Finn says, sagely.

“Hey hey,” Sam’s voice calls down the stairs. “‘Sup, guys?”

“Oooh, those dresses are fly!” Mercedes hits the landing ahead of Sam.

“Hey Mercedes, Sam,” Finn calls. “Like my vest? Sam, you grab your costume from Kurt and go change. Mercedes, you can either wait on the bathroom or you can wait until the other girls get here and all go change together. Girls like that kind of thing, I hear.”

“I’ll just wait,” Mercedes says with a nod. Sam takes his costume from Kurt and disappears into the bathroom while Kurt finds all the parts to Mercedes’ costume and hands them to her. “Lookin’ sharp, guys,” she grins at the four of them. “Kurt, you did an amazing job on those vests.”

“Thank you,” Kurt preens slightly.

“Finn fancies himself to be Schue now he’s got a vest and everything,” Puck points out.

“I’m leading us on our _Journey_ , Puck,” Finn says, making a face. “No respect. Just, seriously, none at all.”

Thankfully, the rest of the club arrives en masse, then, and Puck gets pressed into service handing Mike and Artie their costumes while Kurt sorts out the girls and then they disappear like some kind of magic trick.

“Ok, so you guys can take turns in the bathroom if you’re embarrassed, or you can just go on and change out here,” Finn says.

“Like Finn, who has no shame,” Puck adds, “and greeted his girlfriend in boxers and a half-buttoned shirt.”

“I forgot,” Finn shrugged. “Sometimes I get distracted halfway through.”

Sam emerges from the bathroom, then, fully attired. “This is pretty sweet, not having to wear a tie.” Kurt just rolls his eyes.

The girls reappear after all the guys are finished. “Nice,” Sam says, nodding. “Very nice.”

“I definitely like,” Mike agrees.

“I want a vest,” Brittany says mournfully. “You all look like the chimney sweeps from Mary Poppins.”

“Yeah, but we get the petticoats,” Santana points out, and Puck remembers that, oh yeah, that’s what the ruffly things are called.

“The chimney sweeps don’t wear petticoats,” Brittany adds. She isn’t arguing, just commenting, apparently, because she lifts the hem of her petticoat and flounces it around in the air like a pom-pom.

“Mike,” Finn says. “Why don’t you get them started with the warm-up you came up with?”

“Oh! Everyone, be careful, Noah hurt his back!”

“Uh, yeah,” Finn mumbles. “Be careful of Puck’s, uh, back. Or whatever.”

“You okay, dude?” Mike asks.

Puck waves them off, rolling his eyes. “I’m _fine_. It’s just some, uh, bruises.” He shakes his head as some of them cast doubting looks in his direction. He doesn’t even have to look at Kurt to know that he’s probably just seconds away from busting a gut laughing.

Mike’s warm-up routine takes some of the attention off Puck, and by the time Rachel and Kurt finish leading them in vocal warm-ups, Puck’s pretty sure they’ve all forgotten his supposed “back injury.”

They run through each song without choreography, then do it all as a set, making the choreography work by pushing all the furniture in the basement to one side.

“I was worried about the vests,” Finn confesses, after they’ve done a run-through of the set. “I was thinking it might be one more thing that gets in the way of my dancing, but I don’t think it made it any worse.”

“I think you’ve actually been doing better, Finn,” Tina says with a smile. “Really!”

“You think?” Finn looks excited and he and Rachel exchange an enigmatic look.

“I agree, dude,” Artie speaks up. “Definitely better.”

“Must be all these rehearsals,” Finn says, with a shrug. He winks at Rachel, who tries to hid her giggle behind her hands.

Puck purses his lips and narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything, shrugging instead. Whatever. He’ll add that to the list of things to ask Finn.

“Should we go through it one more time in our costumes, and then change?” Quinn asks. “We don’t want to sweat too much in these before Saturday.”

“That’s a good point,” Kurt nods. “We really shouldn’t wear them for too long. I don’t think any of us has the time to take care of laundering them, and we don’t have the money to pay someone else to do it.”

“We should try practicing someplace cold,” Finn suggests. “In a room where we can crack the windows or something. It’s supposed to replicate adrenaline-related fine motor control loss. Like, make you feel like you have stage fright, only you don’t.”

“We can turn down the heat in the choir room on Tuesday,” Kurt says flatly, clearly unimpressed with Finn’s suggestion.

“You could wear a sweater,” Finn offers. “It’s not like you get stage fright anyway.”

Kurt just stares somewhat incredulously at Finn and then sniffs, turning away. Puck can barely make out Kurt’s mutterings. “What does he know about whether or not I get stage fright?”

“Well, we don’t have windows,” Mike says practically, “and we shouldn’t try to dance in the snow, so we’ll have to wait for another time.”

“We can keep it on the board for Regionals, maybe,” Finn agrees.

Puck has the sudden sinking feeling that the weeks leading up to Regionals are not going to be the most fun they’ve ever had. Maybe even months. He exchanges a glance with Kurt and mouths “we’ve created a monster.” Kurt sighs heavily and nods.

“So are we changing now, or not?” Mercedes demands, one hand on her hip.

“I think we should,” Finn says.

“Come on, girls,” Rachel smiles, heading towards the stairs. “We can go upstairs again.”

The girls follow her, leaving the guys standing there looking at each other.

“If anybody wants to grab the bathroom to change in privacy, you can go on,” Finn offers. Puck frowns, because of all the guys, he’s the one _least_ likely to need privacy. He just grabs his clothes and stakes out one corner, keeping his back to the wall while he slips off his shirt and pulls on his sweatshirt right afterwards.

Finn and his barely-sloping learning curve undresses in reverse order of how he got dressed, pants of first, then vest, and then fiddling with the shirt buttons while he stands there in his ridiculous boxer shorts.

Kurt, for his part, leans against another section of the wall to change, sighing and shaking his head at Finn standing in the middle of the room. It takes him longer to finish getting dressed than everyone except Finn, since he has multiple layers to straighten, but somehow, Finn still doesn’t get done faster.

“Everybody clothed?” Santana’s voice comes down the stairs.

“Uh, no!” Finn yells back. “Gimme a minute!” He grabs his pants and pulls them on, hopping up and down in an attempt to get them on faster. “Ok! Done!” he shouts, zipping his pants.

“Good lord,” Kurt mutters, shaking his head and attempting to use the silvery side of the bar as a mirror of sorts to check his hair. “And he says I take forever to get dressed in the morning.”

“You do!” Finn says. “Anyway, it’s not the getting dressed part, it’s your whole ‘getting ready’ thing. I don’t know what all you do. Clothes and hair and whatever.”

“Some people appreciate my ‘whatever,’” Kurt says, mock-haughtily.

“You look very nice,” Finn sighs. “I just don’t know what it is you _do_ in there. Cartoon birds braiding your hair or whatever.”

“I always wanted pretty birds to braid my hair,” Brittany says wistfully as the girls come down the stairs, costumes in hand. “How can I get them to visit my house after they leave yours, Kurt?”

“I’m sorry, Brittany,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “My little brother is merely confused.”

“It’s true,” Puck nods. “Everyone knows that birds can’t really braid. It’s really the chipmunks and rabbits.”

Kurt snorts and shakes his head again. “Oh, definitely. Cartoon rabbits.”

“Well, whatever they’re doing, it takes for _ever_ ,” Finn complains.

“Poor Finn,” Kurt sighs dramatically.

“I know, poor me.”

“Daddy said that he’ll have fresh cookies ready in about fifteen minutes!” Rachel breaks in. “So we should hurry and finish before that.”

“Rachel’s right. Let’s wrap this up and then we can go eat cookies!” Finn grins. Cookies are a powerful motivator, not that Finn really needs the extra motivation where rehearsals are concerned. In fact, Puck thinks that the evening might nearly be perfect for Finn: he gets to lead a rehearsal, and when they’re finished, they all head upstairs, where Finn gets cookies and sits next to Rachel, but maintains a polite physical distance between them. They occasionally hold hands, but there’s none of the hugging or wallowing on each other that has been the usual lately. When Leroy passes through the room, the two of them quickly let go of each other’s hands and look guilty.

The second time it happens, Puck turns his head to the side and takes a huge bite of cookie so he doesn’t start snickering. Okay, so not a _completely_ perfect evening for Finn.

 

Puck carries his guitar around all morning before heading to glee fourth period, since he’s performing for some only Schue-known reason. Schue is, in fact, already in the room when Puck walks in, almost _bouncing_ in excitement. “Oh, great, Puck, you’re ready to go!”

“Uh, sure,” Puck responds. “I guess? Not everyone’s here yet, though.”

“Oh! You’re right. Still. You can get ready!”

Puck just nods slowly, because if he didn’t know better, he’d think it was sophomore year again, except Schue taking ‘vitamin D’ instead of them.

“Mr. Schue,” Finn says, raising his hand, “before we get started, can you give us a quick run down of what we’ll be doing in rehearsals this week?”

“Oh, sure, Finn!” Schue flashes him a grin. “Well, we’ll do a couple of performances each day, and then we’ll run through our set list. I have a few suggestions that we’ll talk about today after Puck and Kurt both perform. The order you are all performing in, by the way, is based on when I got your chosen song from your secret song partner.”

Finn stares at Schue like he has two heads and doesn’t seem able to formulate a response. He just shakes his head and slumps down in his seat, defeated.

“I guess I’m ready,” Puck says, because he’s not entirely sure Finn won’t change his mind and start talking to Schue again.

“Great! Let’s hear it.”

The song is relatively melancholy-sounding, but it’s nice enough, and Puck was able to pick up the guitar with just a few listens.

 _Through the door I hear her crying  
Why? I don't know  
Round here, we always stand up straight  
Round here, something radiates  
Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand  
She said she'd like to meet a boy who looks like Elvis  
And she walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land  
Just like she's walking on a wire in the circus_

On the other hand, Puck wishes he had lots of time.

 _Round here hey man got lots of time  
Round here we're never sent to bed early  
and nobody makes us wait  
Round here we stay up very, very, very, very late oh  
I can't see nothing... nothing round here  
Will you catch me if I'm falling  
Will you catch me if I'm falling  
Will you catch me cause I'm falling down on you  
I said I'm under the gun around here  
Oh man I said I'm under the gun around here  
And I can't see nothing  
Nothing round here_

“Very nice, Puck, very nice. Kurt, you’re up.”

“Yes.” Kurt’s smile is a little tight, and the more Puck thought about it, the more he didn’t really like the song someone picked out for Kurt, either. If someone wanted to tell Kurt he was their strength, there’s a better way to do it, and if they’re implying Kurt should sing it to them, well. That was almost offensive, no matter how well-intentioned. “I was given the song ‘Wind Beneath My Wings.’”

Kurt launches into a stirring rendition, whatever his personal feelings about the choice, and most of the group looks impressed when he finishes and takes his seat.

“Great job, Kurt. Nice emotion expressed there.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, still smiling tightly.

“Now. Before we continue, I had a few thoughts about our songs. Specifically, ‘Seasons of Love.’”

Puck’s stomach drops and he exchanges a glance with Tina, Mercedes, and Kurt all. The only question, now that Schue’s mentioned it, is which solos he’s going to reassign–just some of them, or all of them?

“I’m just not sure about the solos as they are currently distributed,” Schue continues, and Puck presses his lips together. Kurt’s doing the same, eyeing Schue with disdain. Mercedes and Tina merely look resigned. It’s a slap in the face to all of them, no matter who he singles out.

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Finn asks, an edge to his voice. He’s no longer slumping in his seat, but is sitting up straight, perched on the edge like he’s prepared to leap out of it if necessary. To do what, Puck has no idea. Physically restrain Schue, maybe.

“I just think we could really provide even more power to the song by switching out a few of our soloists. I’d like us to try it really quick with Sam singing instead of Puck, and Quinn instead of Tina.”

“No,” Finn says, firmly.

“What?!” Mercedes exclaims, and that seems to be repeated around the room. Quinn and Sam are exchanging glances and making faces at each other. For his part, Puck just feels like he got punched in the gut. He meets Tina’s eyes, and she looks that way.

“That’s patently ridiculous. No offense meant to either of you, Quinn, Sam,” Kurt says, his tone softening when he addresses them before hardening again. “That makes no sense.”

“No offense taken,” Quinn responds, sweetly. “It is ridiculous. We’ve practiced this. It sounds good the way it is. I don’t even want the solo.”

“Me either,” Sam says, looking askance at Mr. Schue. “Plus, I don’t think I can hold that final note.”

“Let’s just _try_ it,” Schue says, tone pleading. “I think it will really look, I mean sound, great.”

“No,” Finn repeats. “We’re not doing it. You’re not taking away Puck and Tina’s solos. Absolutely not.”

“Look?” Mike repeats, slowly.

“Yeah, Mr. Schue,” Finn agrees. “You want to explain that ‘look’ to us?”

“I misspoke,” Schue says, hands up, in a tone meant to be reassuring. “That’s all. I meant to say sound. I misspoke,” he repeats.

“Whatever. The answer is still no.” Finn crosses his arms across his chest and levels a challenging glare at Mr. Schue.

“Let’s vote.” Santana tilts her head and smiles almost charmingly at Schue. “Those in favor of keeping it the way it is, raise your hand.” All twelve hands go up. “What do you know. The majority wants you to leave it the hell alone.”

“Santana, language,” Schue says, sighing and staring at the floor. “All right. We’ll keep it your way.”

“Good.” Finn continue glaring at Schue.

“Let’s get started practicing now,” Rachel speaks into the silence. “Noah, Kurt, if you would accompany Finn and I for the first song?”

 

Puck tries to study for his stats final on Monday afternoon, because it's only a week away, and he can't imagine having much time to study over the weekend. Hannah runs full-speed into his room as soon as she gets home, skidding to a stop in front of his desk. "Noah! Noah! Can we go now?"

Puck pulls his best confused face, which is one of his better ones, all things considered. "Go where, Hannah?"

" _You_ know," she protests. "You promised we'd go now, before dinner! To–" she lowers her voice to a whisper "–pick them up."

"Pick who up?"

"Not _who_!" Hannah stamps her foot a little, and Puck's mask starts to crack, his lips twitching. "Noah! You're just joking with me!"

"Yeah, I am," Puck admits, standing up. "C'mon. We'll go now."

Rina walks down the hall and stops, frowning. "Go where, Noah?"

"Hannah and I have to run a quick errand. We'll be back by dinner."

"Oh. All right." She shrugs a little and continues down the hall, and Hannah tugs Puck out the door.

"They said it would look even _brighter_ after they fired it!" Hannah chatters excitedly as they head out into the snow. "Do you think that's true?"

"If they said it, I'm sure it's true," Puck agrees, stopping her skipping off the sidewalk and into the crosswalk. "Watch it, squirt."

Hannah bounces in place. "I told Rebecca and Stevie about it! Stevie said he would get _his_ brother to take him, too. Isn't that awesome?"

"Yeah, awesome," Puck agrees, then opens the door at Color Me Mine.

"Look! Look, there's ours! They look good!"

"Do you need those boxed and wrapped?"

"Yeah, that'd be good," Puck nods.

"Blue paper!" Hannah insists. When they walk back to the apartment, Kurt is parking, and Hannah stops on the sidewalk immediately. "Kurt! Look, we picked up the stuff from Color Me Mine!"

"I could tell from the excellent impression of a pack mule that your brother is doing," Kurt says dryly, grinning at Puck.

"I am an extremely fine specimen of pack mule," Puck protests, letting Kurt hold the door open for both he and Hannah.

"Oh, you are a fine specimen," Kurt smirks."Very fine."

Hannah rolls her eyes. "Mom says you two are sappy."

"Sappy?" Puck raises an eyebrow and looks at Kurt, who makes a face and shrugs one shoulder.

"It's kind of weird," Hannah continues, "but I guess it's okay."

"Thanks for your approval?" Puck says, shaking his head as Kurt grabs his keys and unlocks the door. "We're back, Mom."

"And we found Kurt on the way back!"

"Hello, Rina," Kurt says, more calmly.

"Hello, Kurt, my children." Rina shakes her head but smiles. "Dinner's just a casserole tonight, so Hannah, why don't you go do your homework? Boys, if you don't mind putting together the salad?"

"That's fine, Mom," Puck agrees, finally setting down the packages in his room alongside Kurt's bag.

"So," Rina begins later, over dinner. "Your first competition is on Saturday in… Columbus?"

"Yeah, we're supposed to leave from the school at 9:30."

"It's very nice of Carole to house all of you and feed you, as well. And your father, too, of course, Kurt."

"I think they like having the house loud and bursting at the seams," Kurt replies with a slight shrug and a smile. "Either that, or they have some kind of rewards program set up for all food that they buy. I'm starting to suspect the latter. By March, they'll be telling us that they're headed to Cancun as a reward for all the bread they've bought."

Rina laughs. "That seems possible, doesn't it?" She turns back to Puck. "Are there going to be any videos of the performance again?"

"Yeah, there should be," Puck shrugs.

"I wanted to go," Hannah explains, looking disgruntled, "but Mom said we couldn't this time. So you have to let me watch the videos."

"All right," Puck agrees. "But only if you agree in advance that we're the best group."

Hannah laughs. "Of course you are!"

"You've trained her well," Kurt says, grinning at Puck.

"I try."

"So modest."

"I don't think 'modest' is an adjective that anyone has ever applied to Noah," Rina interjects, and from the smirk on her face, Puck has a bad feeling about the direction she's taking with the conversation. "When he was little, I'd let him run around in the yard with only a diaper on, or so I thought. Inevitably, he'd strip off the diaper and run around stark naked."

Kurt's giggling madly, and Hannah is, too, and Puck can't help but chuckle a little.

"Oh, yes, he'd stop and pose if anyone stopped by!"

"Oh, baby, that does sort of sound like something you'd do," Kurt chokes out.

"Noah's silly!" Hannah sings out.

"Okay, okay," Puck grumbles a little, even though he knows he's smiling. "Enough stories about me."

"Aww, I'll have to think of more for next week," his mom teases, grinning widely.

"Mom!" Puck protests.

"Okay. I'll save them for the first night of Hanukkah." She turns to Kurt. "I know you aren't Jewish, Kurt, but you will join us for at least a few nights of Hanukkah, won't you?"

"I would be honored," Kurt responds with a smile.

"Speaking of Hanukkah." Puck says, then swallows. His mom's in a good mood; they're probably not going to find a better time. "After Hanukkah's over–the last night is actually the twenty-seventh, K–Kurt and I were planning to take a few days away."

"Away?" Rina raises her eyebrows, but she doesn't seem particularly alarmed, so Puck plows ahead.

"We talked ages ago about going to see Second City in Chicago before we leave in the fall, and frankly–we need some time away from Lima." Kurt nods his agreement with that statement. "So we were planning to go to Chicago for three nights. We'll be back on New Year's Eve."

"Are you driving?" Rina addresses Kurt, who nods. "And where are you staying?"

"There's a nice hotel downtown that's relatively inexpensive," Kurt responds. "They even have a free breakfast."

Rina purses her lips, nodding thoughtfully. "All right. Just write it on the calendar, Noah, so I'll make sure to remember which days it is, and text me each night so I know you're fine."

"Cool." Puck grins. "Thanks, Mom."

"Yes, thank you, Rina."

"I wish I could go," Hannah pouts.

"Your brother already said you could visit him in New York next year," Rina chides her, and Puck's eyes widen a little. He nods and stays silent; if his mom's in that good of a mood, he's not going to tempt fate.

"Oh, that's right! I really want to see the Statue of Liberty! Ooh, and Kurt, will you take me _shopping_?"

Kurt laughs. "Of course, Hannah."

"Thanks!"

After the dishes are done, Kurt and Puck retreat to Puck's room, Kurt kicking off his boots and removing his sweater before sitting on the bed, feet tucked underneath him. Puck grins and sits down in front of him. "Hey, beautiful."

Kurt rolls his eyes a little, but Puck can see his dimples threatening to appear and his cheeks flush, so Puck leans forward and kisses him softly, lips closed and barely brushing against Kurt's. Kurt parts his lips after a moment, and Puck can feel the tip of Kurt's tongue teasing at his lips. Puck lets his mouth open under Kurt's persuasion and they continue to slowly deepen the kiss, tiny bit by tiny bit, Puck's hand coming up to rest on Kurt's jawline. Kurt's own hand mirrors the action, and Puck tilts his head into the touch.

"Eww." Hannah's voice comes from the door, and they pull apart quickly, Puck sighing. "You two _are_ sappy."

"Thanks for your input," Puck says flatly. "What do you want?"

"Mom said to ask you to help me with my math again. We're doing probability while we all pass our times tables tests."

"Oh, all right. Bring it in here." Puck rolls his eyes as she walks to her room. "What is the probability that we'll be interrupted?"

Kurt laughs and shakes his head. "At least your mom doesn't have a problem with Chicago."

Puck's pretty sure his eyes light up. "Yeah, that was pretty awesome. I don't think your dad is going to be quite so easygoing about it, though."

"No, probably not." Kurt sighs. "I'll talk to him Sunday morning. I want to get through Sectionals first. Plus I may be able to confirm my audition times by then, and I'll just spring that on him at the same time. Despite what he claims, I cannot give him another heart attack. The cheeseburgers he eats when I'm not around _can_."

Puck winces. "Yeah, I don't know, K." Kurt doesn't talk about it much, but Puck knows how much it bothers him that Burt doesn't really take care of himself like the doctors (and Kurt) want him to. "Maybe sit down and talk to he and Carole both about it?"

"Yeah, that might help," Kurt nods.

They work for a little while before Kurt puts aside his assignment with a sigh. "I'm going to kill Schue, by the way."

"Literally or figuratively?"

"Either one." Kurt's face is sort of flinty, and Puck's glad that the look on it is not targeted at him. "Ignoring the logistics of changing soloists less than a week before a competition, and even ignoring the slight that we are unable to adequately arrange a song and assign solos. Implying…" Kurt's jaw works. "I'm unbelievably _angry_ with him and I don't really know how I'm going to handle staring at his face every day this week."

"Blue eyes," Puck says softly. "It worked out all right."

"Not because of him." Kurt shakes his head. "No. I know Finn's been far more enthusiastic than we ever dreamt, but so be it. I'll do the assignments I want to do. I'm _done_ with that man," Kurt seethes.

Puck understands why Kurt is fed up. Schue's relationship with Kurt has always been a little different, like Schue's not sure how to handle "the gay kid." Add in how badly he's mishandled their set list, how he disregards opinions other than Rachel's and Finn's, and now today's events? No, Puck's not surprised. On some level, he's surprised it took this long.

"Not going to argue with me?" Kurt asks mildly.

"No," Puck shakes his head. "I can't blame you. Schue's always been a bit of a dick to you, sometimes just by what he doesn't do, but still. A dick."

“It’s our club, now. Schue doesn’t realize it yet, but we’ve taken what he started and made it something bigger and better and just _more_. It’s ours.”

“And we’re going to win,” Puck asserts. “Not because we need it for college applications or anything else, just because we enjoy it and we _want_ to win.”

“Yes,” Kurt agrees. “We do, and we will. We’ll be legends,” he concludes, smirking a little.

 

Puck eyes his phone warily when it rings just a few moments after Kurt leaves, answering it cautiously. “Hello?”

“Noah? I’m sorry to be calling so late, but it just occurred to me that this evening would be a perfect opportunity for me to bring you the gifts I bought on your behalf.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, that’s fine.” Puck sighs, relieved that Rachel doesn’t have anything else to discuss.

“Great! I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“I’ll wait downstairs, then,” Puck responds. “See you then.”

“See you!”

Puck shakes his head and heads quietly out of the apartment, standing just inside the lobby until he see her pull up, at which point he heads outside. “Thanks, Rachel.”

“I was happy to help.” She beams at him. “I admit I find your choices somewhat random, but I’m sure you have good reasoning behind them.”

Puck raises his eyebrow and takes the bag she hands him. “Yeah, I did think about it. Actually, I should probably go order the rest of it, come to think of it.”

“Oh, yes, you should! And I should get back home. I’ll see you early in the morning!”

“Bye, Rachel.” Puck shakes his head and walks upstairs. Yeah, great; rehearsal with Schue instead of a relatively leisurely breakfast with Kurt.

 

Finn pops his head into Kurt’s room to find Kurt sitting at his desk. “So, that was douchey today,” Finn begins, without any lead in at all.

Kurt snorts. “Understatement of the century.”

“Seriously,” Finn sighs, flinging himself onto Kurt’s bed. “What was with him? I mean, I know it’s not _new_ or anything, but was it just me? Or was he, like, extra... _you know_?”

“Maybe he senses that he’s losing control,” Kurt speculates. “Or maybe he can smell the gay on Puck. That doesn’t explain Tina, though.”

“Maybe he thinks she’s gaysian?”

“Maybe he secretly thinks Mike is a girl, since he can dance so well.”

“Maybe Mike _is_ a girl,” Finn says. “I mean, do you know for sure? ‘Cause I don’t.”

“Really?” Kurt raises his eyebrows. “How many years of playing football with him, and you tell me you’ve never accidentally gotten an eyeful?”

“Dudes don’t get an eyeful of other dudes,” Finn scoffs. “I mean, straight dudes don’t. I mean, I guess probably if you _want_ an eyeful of other dudes, you probably get one. That’s not a value judgment or anything.”

“Right,” Kurt responds, voice full of doubt. “Anyway, we have seen Mike’s abs. I don’t think he’s a girl.”

“Hey, that lady on the workout video my mom has? She’s totally got abs,” Finn muses. Finn likes the workout video lady, because there’s something about her that really reminds him of Rachel. Short and bossy, probably. Finn smiles. “But nah, Mike’s definitely a dude. I was just messing around. Not that I’d care either way, ‘cause he’s definitely too tall for me. If he were a girl.”

“Your thought processes are deceptively convoluted. It’s fascinating.” Kurt sighs and closes the window on his screen. “I wash my hands of the man. Schue, I mean.”

Finn sighs again, because this thing with Schue? Such a disappointment. “You know, back when we first started glee, I really thought he was better than that.”

“I did, and I didn’t. I _was_ surprised by what he said about how it would ‘look.’ Maybe he truly did misspeak, but I can’t help but wonder if it was a Freudian slip. Let’s be honest: Puck and Tina are not what people expect in Ohio.”

“Blond and bland?” Finn snorts. “Sorry, that wasn’t nice. Sam’s cool and Quinn’s. Well, she’s, like, _trying_ or whatever.”

“I would have said Barbie and Ken, actually, because when the two of them stand next to each other, it sort of erases their personalities and turns them into a walking stereotype. You’d think Schue would learn from the past; there’s no reason the Warblers should have tied for first place at Sectionals last year. The only reason the results were as they are, in my opinion: boring Barbie and Ken duet.”

“I mean, I get what Schue was going for, I guess,” Finn says, scratching his head a little. All this Barbie talk is a little weird. “Giving everybody a chance for a solo is kind of what we’re doing, too, but we’re giving everybody a chance based on what they can _do_ , not just because it’s their turn to sing, right?”

Kurt nods. “The truth is, some voices _are_ better suited for certain songs. I wouldn’t even attempt to sing a solo from something like ‘Time of My Life,’ because I know it’s not the best showcase for me.”

“Dude, that song? Not the best showcase for anybody.”

“But Finn!” Kurt exclaims, mock-offended. “It’s a _classic_!”

“Apparently anything recorded before we were out of diapers is a classic, whether it sucks or not,” Finn says, making a face. If ‘Time of My Life’ is a classic just because it’s old, then anything can be a classic, and Finn doesn’t think that’s a good whatever-you-call-it for judging songs. Ruben or whatever.

“Remember our unfortunate forays into disco?”

“No,” Finn shakes his head vigorously. “I’m pretty sure I had some kind of brain injury and it blanked out that part of my memory. We will never speak of it again.”

“We all need that brain injury,” Kurt mutters, shaking his own head. “Hey, how is that dance committee coming?”

“It’s, um, dancey?” Finn shifts a little on the bed. Rachel has been kind of obsessed with the dance lately, and it’s cutting into their make-out time, which, after the awesomeness of Finn’s birthday, has been extra disappointing. “Rachel has a lot of ideas. She’s looking for decorations and stuff already.”

“Remind her that after Christmas, everything red will be deeply discounted.”

“She already knows that,” Finn says, ‘cause he’s had to hear that about twenty times. “She’s getting plates and cups and stuff, because a lot of that went on sale after Thanksgiving. It’s not turkeys or anything. It’s, like, clear. Well, the cups are clear. Not the plates.” Which, whoever heard of clear plates? That doesn’t even make any sense.

“Well, that’s good.” Kurt knits his eyebrows together. “Tell me it’s not just me, but is Puck’s mom sort of... bipolar or something?”

“Mrs. P is...she’s always been kind of up and down,” Finn says. He spent his fair share of nights over at the Puckerman apartment growing up, and he’s seen a pretty wide assortment of moods from Puck’s mom. “I mean, it’s just really hard to predict what you’re gonna get any given day.” Finn shrugs, because other people’s moms are a mystery.

Kurt nods slowly as Finn talks. “She’s. I don’t know. She was very upbeat today. Startlingly so. Yet, two weeks ago...” Kurt shrugs. “Same topic, different response.”

“Yeah, she’s kind of always said and done some weird stuff. I don’t know. It’s probably been really hard for her and everything, but...” Finn trails off, because he’s not really sure how much Kurt wants to hear, or more importantly, what Kurt needs to hear.

“There’s things being hard on someone, and there’s doing a complete 180 in a matter of days,” Kurt says levelly.

“Yeah,” Finn answers. “Yeah, there’s a difference, that’s for sure. Sometimes I think she kinda, just...”

“Fractured?”

“I dunno. I was gonna say ‘checked out.’” Finn doesn’t really like this conversation, but if Kurt’s going to be with Puck forever, like Finn’s pretty sure he is, then Kurt’ll have to figure this stuff out eventually. “I mean, have you noticed how Puck takes care of most of Hannah’s stuff? I know that Mrs. P used to do Puck’s birthdays and stuff, ‘cause I went to them, but she never did Hannah’s.”

Kurt nods. “Parent/Teacher Night, for us? She called Puck a little after five. She’d forgotten to make sure we–and yes, it was both of us–could get Hannah and feed her dinner and stay with her until Rina got home.”

Finn doesn’t look directly at Kurt, because he just can’t look at Kurt right now. “Yeah. So, yeah. One time, when Hannah was really little, like a tiny baby, right? I was over at Puck’s house spending the night. I guess we were ten or so, probably.” He fidgets on Kurt’s bed, because it’s one thing to tell this story about your best friend’s mom. That’s bad enough. Telling it about your brother’s boyfriend’s mom is way worse. “Anyway, so she told Puck to watch Hannah, ‘cause she had to go to the store.”

“Okay,” Kurt says slowly. “That’s probably technically illegal, but I suppose I can understand wanting to get something at the grocery store without three kids along.”

“Yeah,” Finn answers, and he can hear his own tone and doesn’t really like it. “Only, she didn’t come back.”

“For how long?”

“Hours? I don’t know for sure. I mean, it was a long time ago and we weren’t really worried about the clock. It was late, like, _really_ late when she got back. Puck knew how to change Hannah’s diapers, but she was hungry and screaming, and we couldn’t get her to stop.” Finn hasn’t thought about that in a long time. He remembers now why he doesn’t think about it. “We finally found the formula and figured out how to mix it up, but you’re supposed to warm it up first, and we put the whole bottle in the microwave, rubber nipple and everything.”

“It melted?” Kurt guesses.

“Exploded!” Finn feels his eyes widening, like he’s still that dumb kid sticking a whole baby bottle into the microwave. “The microwave was covered in formula and everything smelled like burned rubber, and Hannah was screaming, and that’s when Mrs. P finally got back. She started screaming at Puck for not taking good care of his sister, and Puck got so upset he threw up in the kitchen trash can. I think that’s the first time I ever saw him do that.”

“How much... Carole will check on Hannah next year, right?”

“If you’re asking if I told mom about that, then the answer is no, I didn’t. I thought she might not let me go back over there.” Finn frowns. “I’m sure she’ll keep an eye on Hannah if we ask, though. Maybe Hannah could come over here some time.”

“No, I didn’t assume she knew particulars. Just... your mother is not stupid, Finn. I’m sure she knows things are not quite... as expected.”

“Yeah, well, by the time we were twelve or so, we mostly came over here. My mom said it was because Mrs. P probably needed a break from having everyone there, but...” Finn shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like mom had anybody helping her, either.”

“No.” Kurt shrugs a little. “I can’t imagine living in that state of uncertainty for so long, to be honest.”

“Puck got...different. After his dad left.”

Kurt nods, seemingly unsurprised. “Hannah’s adapted remarkably well, all things considered, so I have to assume Puck was able to mitigate things for her.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, she doesn’t ever puke in the kitchen trash, anyway.”

“Small favors,” Kurt says wryly, mouth twisted downwards. “It’s just... disconcerting, overall.”

Finn nods. “Yeah. I mean, sometimes, Mrs. P is great. Like we had one night where she baked a cake and we ate that and ice cream with chocolate syrup for dinner. It was awesome. And sometimes she’d let us stay up as late as we wanted. Other times...”

“Right.” Kurt shrugs. “On the upside, in the course of one evening, she told Puck that Chicago was fine and gave Hannah permission to visit us in New York next year.”

“Well, so that’s good, at least?” Finn’s not so sure Burt’s gonna go for it, but Rina being on board seems good, if nothing else.

“I think so.” Kurt exhales heavily. “I’m going to talk to Dad on Sunday morning. If you happen to want to _not_ be around when that goes down.”

“Sounds like a plan. Good luck with that.” Finn is momentarily glad that Burt, as awesome as he isn’t, is his step-dad and not his actual dad, because seriously. Sometimes the dude can be scary.

“I’m going to try to see if I can do it with Carole, too. That way at least someone else can calm him down.” Kurt shakes his head. “I’m going to try to call and set up my auditions on Friday so I can spring that on him too. Like ripping off the proverbial band-aid.”

“Yeah, definitely just like a band-aid.” Finn winces, ‘cause, well, big damn band-aid.

 

Schue wants a full hour of rehearsal, which means getting out the door around seven to have time to go get coffee, which Kurt and Puck both view as essential. Puck’s not really impressed with getting up before seven on a Tuesday. Kurt ducks into the Lima Bean, because it’s a little closer, grabbing their drinks and a slice of coffee cake each, before heading towards the auditorium.

Mike, Tina, Santana, and Quinn are all there, none of them with coffee, and Tina lets out a little moan when she sees their drinks. “Oh, that’s just cruel,” she whimpers.

“No, cruel is getting up this early on my day off,” Puck grumbles. “The coffee is just a survival tool.”

“And Schue’s not even here yet?” Kurt asks, looking around.

“Not that we’ve seen,” Mike confirms. Kurt scowls and fixes a glare at the door to the auditorium that’s closest to Schue’s classroom.

“I’m supposed to perform this morning, too,” Tina says.

“So am I,” Quinn speaks up. “I really don’t know why someone would give me a song called ‘My Junk,’ anyway.”

Kurt looks sideways at Quinn. “‘My Junk’ as in, from _Spring Awakening_?”

“Apparently. You know it?”

“I do. An unusual choice, though.” Kurt looks speculative, and Puck’s pretty sure Kurt’s figured out who picked the song out for Quinn.

“I’m singing ‘Just A Girl,’” Tina offers, as the door opens and Rachel, Brittany, Sam, and Mercedes come inside.

“There you are,” Brittany greets Santana happily. “I get to sing this morning!”

“Cool, Britt.”

“Where’s Schue?” Mercedes addresses them.

“Not here yet.” Kurt’s voice is flat and yet full of scorn. “Aren’t we shocked?”

Sam shakes his head, and Rachel huffs. “It’s already 7:15. Finn’s helping Artie, by the way. Why isn’t Schue here?”

“Because that would make too much sense?” Santana offers. “I say we go ahead and start without the Douchester.”

“Douchester?”

“Sure. It’s like a douchebag and Schuester mash-up.” Santana smirks evilly. “He likes mash-ups, right?”

They’re all laughing when Finn and Artie show up with Schue right behind them.

“Oh, great, we’re all here! Let’s see. Tina, Quinn, and Brittany. Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Brittany volunteers. “My song is really fun! Whoever picked it out did a great job!”

“Great, then,” Schue nods. “Have at it.”

Puck starts to laugh as the music begins, recognizing the music that blares from Hannah’s room on occasion.

 _I love diggin’ in the dirt  
With just a pick and brush  
Finding fossils is my aim  
So I’m never in a rush_

“They Might Be Giants,” he mutters to Kurt. “Genius.”

 _I am a paleontologist  
That’s who I am, that’s who I am, that’s who I am  
I am a paleontologist  
That’s who I am, that’s who I am, that’s who I am_

“That was great, Brittany,” Schue offers as Brittany finishes and climbs off the stage. “I liked the little dance, too.”

“Thanks!”

“Who’s up next?”

“I am, I guess,” Tina says, standing and going up the stairs.

 _'Cause I'm just a girl I'd rather not be  
'Cause they won't let me drive  
Late at night I'm just a girl,  
Guess I'm some kind of freak  
'Cause they all sit and stare  
With their eyes _

_I'm just a girl,  
Take a good look at me  
Just your typical prototype_

Tina’s delivery isn’t as passionate as sometimes, but Puck thinks that’s just the risk Schue ran with this assignment. Pick a song that someone doesn’t know, or doesn’t particularly like, or has a bad association with–the results aren’t going to be as good.

It was a stupid assignment on some level, no matter the timing; the week before Sectionals, it’s just ridiculous.

“Nice effort, Tina,” Schue says, “though I’m guessing that’s not a favorite song?”

“Not really,” Tina agrees, her jaw clenched slightly.

“Ah, well. Quinn?”

“I’m singing a song called ‘My Junk,’ apparently,” Quinn states as she climbs the stage. Kurt leans over to Puck.

“I’d put good money on Rachel having selected this one. Very good money. It’s that same musical as that song ‘Touch Me.’”

“Ohh,” Puck nods. He knew the name sounded vaguely familiar.

 _See us, winter walking after a storm.  
It's chill in the wind but it's warm in your arms.  
We stop all snow blind, may not be true  
We've all got our junk, and my junk is you._

It’s a strange choice, and Quinn sings it with precision, smiling tightly as she finishes.

“Great, great.” Schue rubs his hands together. “I’ll send out the emails for tomorrow at lunch later this morning. Now, before we start–”

“Mr. Schue? If I may?” Kurt interrupts him, voice dripping with honey-coated disdain.

“Of course, Kurt.”

“I took the liberty of bringing our shoes for the competition, so we could practice our dancing in the appropriate footwear.”

“Kurt is in charge of the shoes,” Finn adds.

“Well, I guess that would be fine.” Schue looks confused, but nods at Kurt, who sighs a little and starts handing out the shoes to everyone.

“Finn, your boats.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. If there’s a flood, the rest of you are gonna all be looking to me for help,” Finn says.

“That’ll be an interesting image. All of us–in Finn’s shoes,” Puck snorts.

“You _wish_ you could be in my shoes.”

They all put on their shoes and climb on the stage. Puck nearly laughs when he realizes that they are all looking expectantly for direction–at Finn. Finn notices them looking at him and quickly shakes his head, making a face that probably means “you guys, stop looking at me.”

Almost as one, they all turn and look at Schue, who thankfully seems not to have noticed. “Any suggestions before we start going through the set?”

“We’re committed to the set order we used on Monday, right?” Finn asks. “I think that worked pretty great.”

“I agree,” Schue nods. “So the original song, ‘Seasons of Love,’ and ‘I Gotta Feeling’ last. What is the original song called, anyway?” He looks expectantly at Finn.

Finn looks expectantly at Puck, who glances at Schue without being noticed. “It’s ‘Willing and Wonderful,’” Puck states, and Schue’s head whips around to stare at him.

“Oh, Puck. Right. Great. ‘Willing and Wonderful,’ that’s great.”

“I think we need to get started, so we can get as many run-throughs as possible in before the bell,” Finn says, an impatient look on his face.

“Oh, of course, of course,” Schue nods, and they begin. They do manage to get in three run-throughs of the entire set before Schue decides that it’s close enough to the starting bell to wrap up the rehearsal.

“Any thoughts?” Schue offers, looking up from his notepad.

“I think the girls need to scuff their shoes up more,” Puck offers. “Stages are slippery, I guess?”

Santana and Mercedes both make a face at him, but it’s true; all the girls stumbled at least once in their shoes.

“I think we’re fine with everything, Mr. Schue,” Finn says, with a strained grin.

“All right, well, great! I’ll see all of you in here after fourth period tomorrow!” With that, Schue nods and heads for the door, leaving them to switch out their shoes and head to class en masse.

It doesn’t feel like much time has passed before they find themselves in the auditorium again, which is primarily because it hasn’t been much time. Puck’s going to be glad when Sectionals is over, though he suspects Finn won’t lose any steam before steering them towards Regionals.

When Puck walks into the auditorium after third period, Finn is already in Leadership Qualities mode, pacing back and forth on the stage, muttering about all the different ways that Schue almost screwed up their choreography and song arrangement.

He occasionally breaks from pacing to gesture at one of the other glee clubbers and say something like, “Don’t listen to what he said about that turn, ok? Just ignore it. Your turn is fine. Keep doing it that way,” or “Seriously, Mercedes, if you do it the way Schue said, it sounds pitchy. You’re great just how you’ve been doing it.”

“Are we gonna rehearse, dude?” Puck breaks in during one of Finn’s periods of muttering.

“What? Oh. Oh! Yeah, everybody, let’s get in starting position, ok? We need to do some actual run-throughs of this to undo all the crap from earlier!”

“Someone needs to skip tomorrow’s rehearsal,” Kurt points out calmly. “Two to four of us. That makes it harder for him to mess with it.”

“We should skip, Kurt, you and me and Mike and Puck. Because of our dual enrollment classes,” Tina explains, nodding soberly. “Someone else will have to skip Thursday afternoon, though, and that will be harder to explain.”

“Someone needs to have an urgent dentist appointment on Thursday,” Finn suggests. “With Dr. Ms. Pillsbury’s ex-husband. Santana? How are your teeth feeling?”

“I think they’re going to start hurting during last period Thursday,” Santana grins. “Good plan.”

“Can I go to the dentist, too?” Brittany asks. “Dr. Howell is so nice.”

“Sure, Britt,” Finn agrees. “You can go, too. I don’t think Mr. Schue’ll have any trouble believing you guys went together.”

“Yay!” Brittany grins. “Awesome. Can we dance now?”

“Shoes,” Kurt calls, and tosses everyone their shoes before they start their music.

After they go through the set three more times, Finn gestures everyone over. “Ok, ok. That’s so much better than earlier--”

“We’re actually awake now,” Mercedes points out. “Most of us got up earlier than usual _and_ went without coffee.”

“Good point, Mercedes. So, everyone’s awake, and also, nobody paid any attention to all that crap Mr. Schue said, which is great. Let’s just keep doing that, and I think we’ll be ready,” Finn nods. “Uh, Sam, you’re kinda mumbling your lines a little in ‘I Gotta Feeling.’ Can you try enunciating a little more?”

“That’s just his accent,” Mike jokes. “If we were a show choir from Tennessee, we’d all sound that way.”

“Ok, well. Either way, just, don’t mumble as much, ok?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Sam nods with a grin at Mike.

“Great. We really only have Thursday and then Friday morning left to rehearse, so, um, just think about that for a while, I guess,” Finn says. “Everybody go have a good rest of your day.”

 

"I have no love for today," is Kurt's greeting when Puck saunters outside just before the final bell.

"Oh?" Puck raises an eyebrow. "I mean, it wasn't my favorite ever, either, but."

"My French professor was convinced by some of the imbeciles in my class that they 'deserved' a chance to bring up their grade."

"Uh-oh."

"Yep. Instead of just the final paper due Tuesday, we now have a test, too. And, no, we don't have the option of taking it only if we want to raise our grade."

"That sucks, K." Puck grimaces. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too." Kurt sighs. "At least we have a couple of hours."

"Just a couple?"

"Carole's usual friends for Tuesday night–apparently one of them is out of town, another is sick, and the third has to bake for her daughter's birthday. So Carole will be home at the regular time."

"Oh." Puck snorts. "I knew this week was going to be crap."

"Tell me about it," Kurt agrees.

"At least we don’t have to go to the rehearsal tomorrow, plus we get the ride over to eat. I don't know what the rest of them are supposed to do."

"There is that," Kurt agrees, parking in the driveway and climbing out of the Nav. "God, she needs a good wash, and it's barely started winter. Salt is not good for her."

Puck chuckles. "It's this week, blue eyes. It hates us."

"It does," Kurt agrees, looking back mournfully at the Nav as they head into garage.

Kurt starts slowly removing his layers as they head up the stairs, draping each one over his left arm, until he has a pile of jacket, sweater, scarf, and hat to throw on his desk chair, his bag dropping to the floor beside it. Kurt pulls off his undershirt while Puck removes his own shirt and undershirt, sitting down heavily on the bed after doing so.

Kurt sits down beside him, sighing a little. "Can we just fast-forward to Friday? Though I'm partially dreading everyone sleeping here."

"Why?"

"You know. I don't want him to say something about where you're sleeping in front of everyone. Or at all, actually."

Puck shrugs. "Let 'im. Whatever. As long as he makes comments about Rachel and Finn, or Sam and Mercedes, or, hell, Brittany and Santana."

"Right," Kurt snorts. "The latter is unlikely to happen."

"Stranger things have happened. Right?"

"I suppose." Kurt sighs again. "Why don't you help me forget my father for a little while?"

Puck grins. "That, I can probably do." He slides his arms around Kurt and lies them back on the bed, running his hand slowly down Kurt's chest.

"I thought you'd be up to the task," Kurt murmurs, brushing his lips against Puck's. Puck lets his tongue slide out, running along Kurt's lips until Kurt's tongue meets it. Their hands slide up and down each other's chests and backs, Puck relishing the feel of Kurt's skin underneath his fingertips. Kurt sighs into Puck's mouth and Puck can feel Kurt's body slowly relaxing on top of him.

Puck moves one hand between them, slowly unfastening Kurt's jeans and then slipping his hand inside, taking Kurt's erection in his hand, barely holding it. Kurt rolls his hips downward, and Puck tightens his hand slightly, smirking as Kurt's lips move away from Puck's, his head thrown back just a little. "Like that?" Puck whispers.

Kurt nods. "Fuck. Just." He pushes at his clothes, working them down to his knees and then kicking them off awkwardly. "Better," he exhales, and Puck grasps him more firmly, barely moving his hand up or down.

Kurt moves until he's sitting on top of Puck, shifting until he's directly over Puck's still denim-covered cock. Puck groans a little and pushes his hips upward, his hand faltering in his tiny motions.

"Time to get you undressed," Kurt says after a moment, lifting himself onto his knees. Puck quickly pushes down his clothes and Kurt leans forward, placing the bottle in Puck's hand. Puck nods and quickly coats two fingers, pushing them inside Kurt, who's still on his knees. "Yeah, baby."

Puck grins and twists his wrist just a little, putting his other hand back on Kurt's cock, this time stroking it a little more vigorously. "So fucking sexy," he grunts, watching Kurt lower himself repeatedly onto Puck's fingers.

Kurt grabs the lube from wherever Puck discarded it and runs his hands achingly slowly over Puck before tugging on Puck's hand. Puck removes his fingers and then just watches Kurt position them before lowering himself down onto Puck. "Mmm, missed you," Kurt mumbles.

Puck fights not to twitch his pelvis upwards, driving faster into Kurt, and nods. "Perfect." Kurt doesn't stop until Puck is completely inside him, and then he looks down at Puck and grins, tightening around Puck. "Fuck, blue eyes!"

Kurt's grin widens. "Yes. Please do." Puck groans and thumps his head against the pillow. "You like that idea, I take it?"

"Yeah," Puck agrees, voice catching a little as Kurt squeezes again. "Kurt–damn–please."

Kurt slowly begins to move, then, and Puck puts his hands on Kurt, resting at the junction of hips and thighs as Kurt sinks back down onto Puck. "Yesss," Kurt hisses. "Just like this, baby, so good."

"Beautiful," Puck mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his hand drift to encircle Kurt's cock again. They fall into a rhythm, Puck's hand sliding down Kurt as Kurt rises above Puck, the actions repeating in a lazy circuit that leaves both of them breathing heavily and close to the edge.

"Need more," Kurt gasps out, and Puck tightens his hand on Kurt, stroking faster until Kurt's head tilts back, mouth hanging barely open. Kurt clenches around Puck again and Puck drives his hips upwards, hard, and comes while he's balls-deep inside Kurt, who shudders around him and then spurts into Puck's hand, coating it thoroughly.

Puck removes his hand slowly, licking it off before wrapping both arms around Kurt and urging him down on top of Puck's chest. Puck slips out of Kurt as the angle of their bodies changes, and he smiles a little at the soft noise Kurt makes before settling half beside Puck and half on top of him. "Good?"

"You're amazing," Kurt says quietly, his lips not far from Puck's ear. Puck turns and kisses him softly, not deepening the kiss any further.

"Thanks," Puck finally responds. "You're pretty awesome yourself, K."

"Then I guess we make a good pair."

"I think so." Puck trails his hand down Kurt's bare back, making him shiver. "Cold?"

Kurt shakes his head. "Not really. For once." He raises his head and looks over at the clock. "Damn. Just barely enough time to shower."

"I assume you mean actually clean off when you say just enough time?" Puck asks, a little sadly. As if the week wasn't crazy enough, their Tuesday has to get cut short too?

"Yeah." Kurt sighs. "We need to make sure the apartment we find in New York has a big enough shower for both of us."

"Some people measure apartments, some people look at the cabinets, we'll be the ones standing in the shower to make sure it's big enough." Puck shrugs. "I can live with that."

Kurt smiles. "Me too."

They climb in the shower and promptly lose track of time, despite Kurt's thoughts about when Carole might arrive home, which means they're still standing under the spray, rinsing off Kurt's minty shower gel, when there's a knock on the door.

"Kurt?" Carole's voice carries over the sounds of the water. "Just thought I'd let you know I'm home. Is Noah here?"

Puck nearly chokes, biting down his lip, and Kurt blanches, eyes wide. "Uh. Hi!" he calls back. "Um. Yes."

"Oh, okay." Carole sounds just slightly confused and there's a pause. "I'll have dinner ready in about thirty minutes; Finn should be here by then. See you downstairs!"

"See you downstairs," Kurt echoes, and waits a minute before starting to giggle. "Oh, my god. We are so lucky that was Carole and not Dad."

" _I_ am lucky, you mean," Puck says ruefully.

"Maybe," Kurt concedes, and they hurry to finish the shower and get dressed, heading down the stairs.

"Hi, Carole," Kurt says, voice free of embarrassment, but there's still a hint of a blush on Kurt's cheek. "Have a nice day?"

"I did, thank you. Hi, Noah."

"Hi, Mrs.– _Carole_ ," he corrects himself at Carole's mock-chiding look.

"It's good of you two to be so ecologically conscious," Carole continues, grinning to the side as she opens the refrigerator.

"Carole!" Kurt sounds scandalized, and his cheeks turn bright red, but he's starting to giggle, too.

"We're, uh, socially responsible like that," Puck offers. "Need any help?"

"Oh, no, I'm just going to heat up some of this chicken and steam some vegetables, if that's all right with you boys?"

"That's fine," Kurt manages, still flushed. "We can cut up the vegetables, though."

"Oh, thank you," Carole agrees, handing broccoli to Kurt and carrots to Puck. "Are you boys excited about Saturday? Nervous?"

"It's funny, but I'm not really nervous," Kurt replies thoughtfully. "I don't think it's overconfidence, either, but." He stops and shrugs. "I'm sure I'll be nervous enough right before we go on."

"I think it helps that it's the same place," Puck offers. "We've been there enough times now."

"That's true." Kurt turns to Carole. "Are you and Dad going to come watch?"

"I think so," Carole nods. "We have the tickets, anyway."

"Great." Kurt smiles. "Oh, by the way. Sunday morning, I need to talk to you and Dad about a few things, are you going to be around?"

"Sure, honey." Carole flashes him a quick smile as she works on the chicken. "I'll make sure Burt's here too."

"Thanks." Kurt sighs and shoots Puck a look, and Puck nods, understanding. Having Carole there might help a little. It might not, but it certainly won’t hurt.

Finn doesn’t show up by the time the food’s ready, so the three of them sit down to eat together without him, Carole shrugging off his absence with a casual comment about how he probably stayed late in the weight room. Puck figures it’s more likely he met up with Rachel and lost track of time, but Carole’s theory is technically possible. Considering she didn’t flip out about finding he and Kurt in the shower together, he’s not inclined to make her question anything.

The fact that Carole _did_ come home while they were in the shower is, however, the reason that Kurt suggests they work downstairs at the kitchen table instead of upstairs in his room, so that when Burt gets home, he sees them working steadily and fully clothed in a public portion of the house.

 

Puck starts to feel like a ninja again during fourth period on Wednesday. Everyone’s sprawled around the choir room, working on various assignments; Kurt and Puck finish their lab report for physics due the next day and then Kurt just glares at the physics book for awhile. Tina clears her throat about five minutes before the bell.

“We should go ahead and leave,” she suggests, exchanging a glance with Mike and then addressing Kurt. “Just in case Schue sprints here as soon as the bell rings.”

“Good point,” Puck agrees, throwing his pencil back in his bag and standing up. Kurt brightens and puts away the offending physics book, following Puck’s motions and heading for the door with Tina and Mike close behind them.

“Bye,” Rachel calls, giggling a little.

They all laugh slightly and wave, then head the long way out, to avoid Schue’s classroom. “I feel like a ninja,” Puck comments.

“Secret agent,” Mike counters.

“Special ops,” Kurt states definitively, then raises an eyebrow. “What? I could rock that.”

“You could,” Tina agrees, and Puck nods. Mike still looks a little skeptical, but nods after a moment. “You guys want to grab lunch with us?” Tina continues. “We actually have more time this way.”

“Sure,” Puck agrees, because of course there’s no reason not to do so. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can we go to China Buffet?” Mike asks with a sigh. “We haven’t gone in weeks, Tina.”

“I like a buffet,” Kurt says wistfully. “And we do have awhile to take advantage of it.”

“All right,” Tina concedes, smiling ruefully. “China Buffet. We’ll see you there!”

 

Puck yawns for the fourth time in an hour and double-checks the clock. Nope, still over three hours until the end of shift. Apparently no one wants coffee on the last day of November. He shrugs and decides to go ahead and clean out the pastry case. It’s not like people buy scones after around 11:30 am, and if they do, he can just unwrap the damn plastic.

Puck notices movement in front of the door and looks up to see Finn’s giant self looking in the doorway, waving through the glass before he lets himself in. As he enters, it’s obvious he’s fresh from practice; his hair is even still wet.

“Hey!” Finn says, then makes a dramatically sad face. “Aw, are you putting away the food already?”

“You would be the one person in Lima who wants breakfast food this late in the day,” Puck grumbles, abandoning the plastic wrap.

“Pastries aren’t breakfast food. They’re dessert and you can eat dessert any time,” Finn explains. “Are the muffins all gone?”

“Yeah, they were out when I got here. Scone?”

“Are there any of the maple ones? I can’t tell just by looking at them.”

“You think I can?” Puck grins. “I have a cheat sheet back here. And yeah, there are.” Puck grabs one and hands it over, forgoing the bag under the assumption that it would just be a waste of a bag.

“Awesome!” Finn says, diving right into it. “These things are so good.” He sprays crumbs onto the counter, then looks down at them. “Oops. Sorry.”

Puck just shakes his head and turns towards the coffee. “What size, dude?”

“The big one,” Finn answers. “I need to stay up for a while tonight. Rach and I worked on my essay yesterday, but I’m still not happy with it. I just don’t think it’s good enough.”

“Yeah?” Puck fills the cup and hands it over, along with the half-and-half. “At least you didn’t have to write an essay on how music impacted your personal growth throughout your life.”

“I don’t know, that might have been easier,” Finn sighs. “The topic for mine is just way too vague and I don’t know if I’m giving them what they want. Rachel thinks so, but maybe she’s just being nice. I dunno. I thought just playing football would be enough, but apparently I’ve gotta be a good writer, too.”

“Tell ‘em that you’re just so awesomely leadership-y that you demand they let you in?” Puck jokes.

“They want to know how I’d enrich their community,” Finn says. “I mean, how am I supposed to know that? What if they’ve got fifty other guys with the same kind of background as me, only better? I feel like I’m just rambling or bragging, no matter what I write.”

“I think the point is kinda to brag, really.” Puck shrugs. “For Hunter, I had to write about something that influenced me–a person, a historical figure, a fictional character, an issue, or an experience. It was pretty ridiculous.”

“Who’d you write about?” Finn seems curious. “I mean, I’d have totally gone with Mr. T.”

“Um. An issue, instead. ‘Cause I didn’t think the one I’d write about a person would really be the best for getting into college.” Puck shrugs uncomfortably and wipes the counter almost absently.

“Oh,” Finn says, softly. He may not get exactly what Puck’s talking about, but he seems to understand not to press the topic. “So, what was your issue, then?”

“Bullying,” Puck admits. “Personal growth, deep thoughts about a topic of national scrutiny, a little bit of a pathos. College application gold mine.”

“Uhh...cool?”

“It worked, anyway. What about you, what are you writing about?”

“PFLAG, mostly,” Finn says. “It was Rachel’s suggestion, but it’s been pretty easy to write a _lot_ about where I started out and how I ended up there. I’m just afraid it’s either too much or just goes all over the place, or that I’m making myself look awesomer than I actually am.”

“I’m sure they get people outright lying, so you’re probably fine. Hey, did Schue do anything ridiculous during rehearsal?”

“Other than complaining about why it is four members of the club think joint enrollment is more important than his pointless rehearsals?” Finn shrugs. “Nah. I told him to stuff it. You know, politely.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, we ate a leisurely lunch at China Buffet. I think the four of us owe the rest of you.”

“I think Rachel and I are going to hold off on a skip, keep an eye on Schue, but we’ll make sure everybody else gets a chance to skip a rehearsal before the week’s over,” Finn says, grinning. “I’m thinking Sam and Mercedes have some sort of obligation, too. Or maybe Mercedes and Quinn have to study for something together, and Sam agreed to help Artie with, um, wheelchair...maintenance...or something?”

“That sounds a little wrong. Maybe stick with Sam and Mercedes having some sort of obligation.”

“I want Quinn and Artie to get a turn to skip out, too,” Finn explains. “It’s only fair.”

“No, I know, but I don’t think wheelchair maintenance is the answer.”

“Maybe they have to drive Artie somewhere.”

“That could work, I guess.” Puck shrugs. “Speaking of awkward, ‘cause that’s sort of what wheelchair maintenance is, what was with you and Rachel and Leroy on Sunday night?”

“Uh.” Finn turns beet red. “You know, it’s late, and I should probably--”

Puck laughs. “Oh, no, now you are definitely not getting out of it. Spill.”

“Well, so Leroy might have walked in on us, um,” Finn coughs and turns even redder. “And I swear, I’ll punch you in the _nuts_ if you give me any crap about this. He might have walked in on us, uh...”

“Doing _what_?” Puck scoffs. “Because I think I can probably top it.”

“Being, um. Grindy.”

Puck snorts. “Were you clothed?”

Finn looks mortified. “Yeah, dude. Geez.” He visibly shudders. “That’s just. I think I’d be more than a little unpopular with Rachel’s dads if we had our clothes off.”

Puck grins a little devilishly. “Dude, your mom came home yesterday and Kurt and I were in the _shower_. Grindy with clothes on? Nothing.”

“Yeah, but first of all, this is _Rachel_ we’re talking about. Rachel. And second of all, I just thought, since I gave you so much grief about the grindy thing...”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I bet she was mortified?”

“Oh, definitely,” Finn sighs. “It sucks, too, because now she’s back to my dance space, your dance space.”

“Sorry, dude,” Puck offers.

“Not as sorry as I am,” Finn mourns.

“No, probably not,” Puck agrees. “So while we’re playing true confessions, here, what was with the whole dancing thing, looking at Rachel, whatever.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Finn says, sounding like he possibly really doesn’t know what Puck’s talking about.

“On Sunday night,” Puck clarifies. “When Tina and Artie were both talking about your dancing, you looked at Rachel, and she looked almost smug.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Finn repeats, sounding like he knows exactly what Puck is talking about.

“Uh-huh,” Puck says, disbelievingly. “Right.”

“Seriously, I think you’re speaking, like, Swahili or something. Your words, they don’t make any sense.”

“Hmm.” Puck drums his fingers on the counter. “This must be good, if you’re going to such lengths to cover it up.” He grins. “At least you aren’t trying to sell me on chicks having prostates.”

“Dude, anyone could make that mistake, ok?”

“No, no they really couldn’t,” Puck shakes his head. “Trust me on that one. Just... _trust_ me.” He snorts. “So what gives, Hudson? Are you secretly planning to audition for _So You Think You Can Dance_?”

Finn snorts. “Nah, man. That’s silly.”

“I don’t know, you might... nah, that’d be ridiculous. What is it, then?”

“Can I just, will you, just...” Finn stammers. “I just don’t want to say anything about it yet, ok?”

“Okay...?” Puck responds slowly. “Are you like, on drugs or something?”

“What? No!”

“You’re acting pretty weird, dude,” Puck defends himself.

“Drugs weird, though? That’s way weirder than I’m acting,” Finn argues.

“I don’t know, it’s a secret, and you won’t tell me, Kurt doesn’t know, so...” Puck shrugs. “Just checking.”

“I’m not doing drugs or anything else illegal,” Finn says. “I promise.”

“Okay. Good. Just spit it out, already.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” Finn looks pitiful. He leans against the pastry case and frowns.

“Not _now_ ,” Puck confirms.

Finn sighs deeply and dramatically. “Oh, fine. _Fine_. I’m taking...” he trails off into an indecipherable mumble, looking up at Puck hopefully, like Puck might just accept that as an answer.

“Taking what?” Puck demands.

“Dance lessons, ok?” Finn puts one hand over his eyes. “Rachel and I are taking dance lessons.”

“That’s it?” Puck stares at him incredulously. “Dance lessons? That’s your big secret?”

“Well, yeah. That’s not big enough for you? It’s me. Dance lessons, dude. _Dance_ lessons.”

“Yeah, but you’ve always said you had trouble with it, so... trying to get better? That’s supposed to be weird?”

“It’s _swing_ dancing,” Finn says, his eyes wide. “Like, flipping her around and stuff.”

“Yeah? Can you do that yet?”

Finn shrugs. “A little. That stuff’s easier than the steps. Maybe because she’s so tiny? It’s not, like, lifts or anything, just sort of...turning her upside down or whatever. I don’t remember what it’s called.”

“Cool. Maybe we should do some swing dancing for Regionals or Nationals, then.”

“Yeah, we’ll think about that, just...don’t tell anybody, ok?” Finn looks nervous. “About the dancing.”

“Right. Top secret.” Puck rolls his eyes a little and assumes Finn doesn’t mean not to tell Kurt, because of course he’s going to. There’s some kind of clause about that.

“I’m serious, Puck.”

“I promise, I’m not going to go run tell Jewfro or anything. Geez.”

“Ok. If I hear about this from anybody else, though, I’m coming after you,” Finn threatens, glaring.

“I’m quaking in my boots.”

Finn makes a face. “Whatever, dude. I’m gonna take the rest of this coffee and go work on my essay. I’ll check you later.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, man.” With that, Finn traipses back out of the Starbucks.

 

Puck pops in his earbuds and hits Kurt's number as soon as he locks the door.

"Hi there," Kurt's voice is warm in his ears. "I heard work was slow today."

"It was," Puck agrees. "Weirdly slow. Either way, I get paid, though, so that's something."

"Very true." Kurt sighs. "Dad very briefly talked about Friday night; awkward conversation. It's not like we're going to start doing it in the middle of our friends."

Puck snorts. "No, not really. There's exhibitionism, and then there's just a world of NO."

"Precisely."

"So I found out what Finn was hiding the other night."

"Oh?" Kurt asks, and Puck can hear him shut his door. "What?"

"Dance lessons. Swing dancing, with Rachel."

"That's the big secret?"

"Apparently so."

"That's strangely sweet, really. And obviously it has helped somewhat."

"I told him maybe we should be doing a swing dance number for Regionals or Nationals, then. I mean, if he has the most trouble with choreography out of all of us, and he's been working on that, then it stands to reason it'd be a good choice."

"It really would be." Kurt yawns into the phone. "Sorry, baby. I've been sleepy ever since lunch."

"That lunch was awesome. I want more lunch hours for buffets." Puck grins and heads out of the store, closing tasks complete.

"Me too. Oh, dammit."

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot I told Mercedes I'd do a movie with her tomorrow after rehearsal. Fuck."

"Yeah, I don't think we'd have time for that, though," Puck teases.

Kurt laughs. "No, probably not. Still. Your mom and Hannah are going somewhere Sunday afternoon, _right_?"

"They'd better." Puck shakes his head. "I'm just looking at it as we have to get through finals next week and then it's all smooth sailing for a little while."

"That's true," Kurt's voice brightens a little. "Hang on." Puck can hear some muffled whispering before Kurt returns. "I need to go. Dad wants me to help him with something downstairs and Finn's in the midst of a meltdown about his essay, though he insists that he's not."

Puck laughs. "Yeah, of course not. Okay, blue eyes."

"I'll see you in the morning. Be good."

"I'm always good."

 

Thursday goes about how Puck expects: they have a couple of great run-throughs in the morning, Schue complains about people missing rehearsal on Thursday afternoon, and then he has to deal with heading home while Kurt is swept up by Mercedes in search of a movie and dinner.

“I need to give Puck a ride home,” Kurt protests as Mercedes tries to drag him out of the room as soon as Schue dismisses them. “Give me a minute, ‘Cedes.”

“Can’t Finn do it?”

“Finn is in the midst of freaking out over his application essays, not to mention everything else. I wouldn’t wish riding with him on anyone while he’s in this state of mind. Plus, he already left.”

“Oh.” Mercedes frowns, looking around the room and then shrugs. “All right. Come on, Puckerman.”

Puck raises an eyebrow but walks out with Mercedes and Kurt into the parking lot. “What are we going to see, Mercedes?”

“Well, we could go see that new romantic comedy with Ashton Kutchner if it’s out.” Mercedes pauses as they approach the Nav and Puck claims the front passenger seat without thinking about it. “Excuse you.”

“Excuse me what?” Puck challenges her.

“Why are you sitting up there?”

“Relax, I’ll be gone in four blocks,” Puck says, rolling his eyes and resting his head against the back of the seat. “Are you skipping tomorrow’s rehearsal?”

“Yeah, I’ll figure out some kind of excuse before fourth period.”

Kurt turns the volume up considerably, perhaps to curtail conversation, or maybe so it gives them both something else to think about other than reaching across the console and touching each other, because Puck has a hard time not doing that. It’s one of those conditioned-response things.

The drive seems even shorter than usual, which is hardly fair; if it’s going to be short, it seems like that should be on a day when no one is home and Kurt’s parking and coming upstairs with him. “Have fun, you two,” Puck says as he climbs out.

“Thanks,” Kurt shoots him a smile. “Later.”

“Thank you,” Mercedes says sweetly as she climbs out of the back and into Puck’s vacated seat. “See you tomorrow, Puck.”

“Yeah,” Puck nods, and heads up the stairs. Well, he needed some time to write. That’s what he’ll keep telling himself, anyway.

 

“That boy is so strange sometimes,” Mercedes huffs as they drive away. “Of course, I think it’s weird that you and he are such good friends now.”

Kurt shrugs. “You can’t spend a lot of time with someone without getting to know them, I guess.” _And then some_ , he adds mentally. “Someone I know,” he continues, teasingly, “was very busy all summer with her new and secret relationship.”

“Okay, I may have ignored almost everyone else,” Mercedes concedes, giggling. “And my dad _did_ have me help out with the office work sometimes. You were busy, too!”

“Forty hours a week of work does that,” Kurt agrees. “Also studying. God, I still need to take those last two tests, but I have to drive to the test center, and I can only do it on Saturday mornings.”

“When are you going to find time to do that?” Mercedes shakes her head. “Your schedule is insane, boo. It’s not wonder you aren’t dating anyone right now. I mean, I don’t know who you’d date, but.”

“Oh, I’d imagine I could meet someone through PFLAG, if I had the time,” Kurt says lightly, not taking his eyes from the road.

“Casey?” she snorts. “That’s narcissistic of you.”

Kurt wrinkles his nose. “No, god. He’s fifteen, ‘Cedes.”

“But he’s the only other gay kid.”

“Mercedes.” Kurt shakes his head. “You really think we’re filling a room with 30-40 people every two weeks, and all but two of them are straight allies?”

Mercedes shrugs. “No one else ever says they’re gay or whatever, so I never really thought about it. You think some of them are gay?”

“Definitely. Starting with Sam,” Kurt smirks.

“Kurt!” Mercedes squeals, laughing. “Stop it!”

Kurt laughs, tossing his head back. “You don’t think so? You have personal experience to testify differently?”

“You know I do,” Mercedes tosses back. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find someone perfect for you.” She shrugs. “Maybe closer than you think.”

Kurt knows it’s just a platitude, something that you say to the boy who is seemingly the only gay teenager for at least a hundred miles in any direction. Still, he smiles a little and nods at Mercedes, because unintentionally, she’s right. “Perhaps,” he says finally, when he realizes she’s expecting some sort of response.

“That’s the spirit,” she agrees. “Now. Is that new movie out?”

Kurt shakes his head no, because he and Puck already have plans to go see it the day after it comes out, preferably a town or two over. “Not until the ninth.”

“Damn. Well, we’ll find something. Let’s go eat at Dairy King.”

“Sounds good,” Kurt agrees, pulling in the restaurant only a short distance from the movie theatre. “I could use a burger and a shake.”

“Why did you always eat differently in front of the girls?”

“Are you kidding? The looks you would have all given me?” Kurt retorts. “Now that I’ve been dramatically outed as an actual teenage boy, however, I don’t have to hide part of myself away.”

“Boy,” Mercedes shakes her head. “I think you’re just spending too much time with straight boys. I know you live with one, but still.”

Kurt just rolls his eyes as he holds the door for her. Yes, because Finn’s his ‘straight brother’ instead of his ‘brother’; right. “I am a man of hidden depths,” Kurt says with a shrug as they sit down. “Like Walt Whitman.”

“Who?”

“Walt Whitman. Famous American poet. ‘I contain multitudes’? ‘I contradict myself, very well then, I contradict myself’?” Kurt sighs at the blank look on Mercedes’ face. “Didn’t you pay attention in American lit last year, ‘Cedes?”

“Not really,” she admits frankly. “After I saw they didn’t have Langston Hughes or Zora Neal Hurston on the syllabus, I decided they didn’t have much to say to me.”

“That’s a crime. I adore Whitman.” Kurt shakes his head and reaches for the menu when his phone chimes. “Oh, hang on a second.”

He pulls out his phone and tries not to smile too widely as he reads Puck’s text.

 _If you drop off M before you have to go home I could sneak you in... ;)_

“Who is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Kurt says dismissively, attention on typing out a reply.

 _Will definitely consider. xx_

“So. Let me tell you about what happened on Tuesday night when my momma got home.”

 

Puck sighs and looks at his phone, then at his open bedroom door. Rina’s still up, watching _Private Practice_ , which Puck didn’t even realize she ever watched. Even if Kurt calls, he’s not going to be able to sneak him in.

Just as he finishes that thought, his phone does ring, and Puck snatches it up, bounding to his feet to close the door as he answers it.

“Bad news, Mom’s still up,” he says, in lieu of a greeting.

“Damn.” Kurt sighs on the other end. “Want me to come get you and we can go grab doughnuts at Pat’s? We could take some tomorrow morning, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be awesome,” Puck agrees. His skin feels like it’s crawling and he’s done as much work as he can in one day. He shoves his feet into his sneakers and grabs his jacket before opening the door and heading through the living room. “I’ll be back in about an hour, Mom,” he calls out, then shuts the door behind him before she can really respond. An hour or so with Kurt is better than nothing.

 

The Munsters are the heroes of Friday morning’s rehearsal, between Kurt’s four dozen doughnuts and Finn’s armfuls of coffee drinks. They go through the set list in costume twice, then stop to eat and listen to Finn’s mental notes.

“So, this is our last rehearsal, and I just want you guys to know that I think you’ve done an awesome job,” Finn says, standing taller than normal. “We did this on our own. It’s all _us_. When we get to Sectionals and kick ass, we’re gonna know that it was us, not some coach or some professional choreographer--I mean, not yet, anyway, but Mike, I’ve totally got my eye on you, dude--that got us there. It was us. We wrote the music and we wrote the lyrics and made the setlist and we did the choreography. So, uh, if you start feeling nervous or anything, just remember how much ass you kick. Which, it’s a lot. A lot of ass.”

“Some people are more into breasts, some people are into ass,” Artie intones, nodding slowly, and Sam and Mike nod as well.

“Ass, definitely,” Puck says, smirking.

Finn makes that strangled sound, but recovers remarkably quickly, almost like he’d actually _expected_ that kind of remark from Puck. Pity; Puck makes a note to try harder next time.

“Ok, yeah, ass, boobs, whatever. You guys rocks. We rock and we’re totally gonna win this thing,” Finn says, sliding right back into cheerleader mode. “Now, us Glocks have to switch gears for a little bit, but then we’re gonna get right back into Sectionals brain tonight. Let’s do this thing!”

“Here, here,” Sam and Mike chorus together, raising their half-eaten doughnuts in salute.

 

"Oh, hey, Mike, wait up," Puck says as they leave stats that afternoon. "Gotta question."

"Sure, yeah. What's up?"

"Dance classes. My sister wants some, I thought I'd look into it for Hanukkah. You got any place specific you would recommend?"

"Hmm." Mike purses his lips, like he's thinking. "What kind of dancing? Straight ballet or a combination-type class?"

"Uh." Puck looks at him blankly and shrugs. "No clue."

Mike laughs. "Okay. If she just said dance classes, she'd probably like a combination class better. There's four or five places in town but I'd only recommend two of them." They stop outside and Mike pulls out his phone. "Let me send you a quick email with the links. Either one should be fine with her starting partway through the year, so it may be a matter of what your mom's schedule is like to get her there."

"Yeah, that'll make a difference," Puck acknowledges. "She's eight, so she's not like, behind or anything, right?"

Mike shakes his head. "Maybe for straight ballet, but even then, the reputable places don't start any serious learning until age eight or nine. Too many bones growing and shifting earlier. And it's a good age even if she decides she doesn't want to do it for too long, the benefits will last."

"Awesome. Thanks, man," Puck grins. "I'll check those out later."

"No problem. Let me know where you end up picking."

"Will do." With that, they split towards their respective rides, and Kurt's already sitting inside the Nav, on the phone and writing something down.

"Yes, that's right. Okay, so Thursday the first for writing, Friday the second for the general acting, and Saturday for musical theatre. Yes. Yes, I have the times. No, no, thank _you_. Yes, I'll look forward to it." Kurt hangs up and grins at Puck. "Auditions."

"All set?"

"Same weekend as yours." Kurt smiles widely. "Now we just have to scour the travel websites for a good deal on a flight plus hotel, and we're all set."

"Assuming our parents don't have a fit about us going off to New York for auditions on our own."

"It's not like they can take off enough time to come with us. Worst case scenario, we'll end up with Carole accompanying us, and I just don't think she'd personally find that necessary. We're going to have to make the trip on our own soon enough, and live there, too."

"Yeah, Mom'll probably not care as long as she doesn't have to pay for any of it. I mean, I figured that from the beginning."

"Yes. Oh, Carole asked if we could stop and get the vegetables and bread for later tonight. She's coming home early to start the soup and still get dinner ready before Finn has to get back over to the stadium."

"No problem," Puck shrugs. "We should get some ice cream or frozen pies or something, too. You know everyone's going to want dessert."

The cashier blinks at their cart. "Having a party?" she asks finally.

"After the game tonight," Kurt confirms. "Twelve hungry teenagers."

"Oh, that's right, playoffs start tonight," the cashier nods. "Have fun, boys."

"Thanks!"

Carole and Finn are both home when they arrive, which means Carole presses Finn into service carrying in the boxes of pop before he disappears upstairs. "Thank you, boys."

"Our pleasure," Kurt says smoothly. "Need any help?"

"No, no–well, not with dinner. Can you two get out all the air mattresses and sleeping bags and extra linens and start sorting that out? And Finn said he, Sam, and Mike, plus the Cheerios girls, are going to shower at the school after the game, but if you two could both–" She stops and blushes. "I swear, I didn't mean to imply."

Puck laughs, and after a moment, Kurt reluctantly giggles as well. "It's fine, Carole," he manages. "Puck can go shower while I blow up the air mattresses, and then I'll shower while he unrolls the sleeping bags."

"Right," Puck agrees, but he takes a minute, as soon as Carole leaves the room, to back Kurt against the wall and kiss him hard. "Sure you don't want to save some water with me?" he murmurs.

"Oh, I do," Kurt assures him. "But we probably shouldn't."

"Damn." Puck sighs. "Well, this'll be quick. And cold."

 

Finn likes to get to the locker room a little early, before anyone else arrives. He needs the quiet time before the game to keep him focused. Once all the other guys are there, it gets too noisy and he can’t do anything thinking, and then once he’s out on the field, he doesn’t _have_ to do any thinking. If he’s going to turn anything over in his head before the game, this is his time.

Not that Finn’s doing anything super productive with his thinking. Mostly he’s wandering around the locker room, pacing from one part to the other, hoping that he can keep it together for tonight’s game. Nobody’s said anything specifically about it, but Finn feels like another championship is going to be the kicker for getting him in at Wisconsin. It’s definitely _not_ going to be his grades, and as much as they talked about how great it is to have stuff outside of football, at the end of the day, if he gets in to Wisconsin, it’ll be because of football.

It’s hard to think of himself as being good at much more than football. Two and a half years of glee should have convinced him otherwise, probably, but Finn feels like he’s spent those two and a half years getting solos because of the same thing he and Kurt were talking about. Finn feels like he probably looks good up there, like a red-blooded white-bread Midwestern boy, and that if he looked a little different, then maybe it would be somebody else up there. His voice isn’t better than Puck’s. It’d definitely not better than Kurt’s. He’s got better projection than Sam, but their ranges aren’t that different. Finn gets solos because he looks like the kind of guy Schue thinks should get solos. Finn’s not a genius, but he’s got that figured out pretty well.

And dammit, see? This is why thinking isn’t a great plan for Finn. He’s been keeping himself busy with football and rehearsal, and he hasn’t let himself think about this kind of stuff. He hasn’t given himself a chance to think about being Lima good. After his birthday, things with Rachel started looking up so much, he thought that maybe...

But anyway, a deal’s a deal, and if he wants to be better than Lima at something, he needs to be better than Lima at football tonight. When he gets out on the field, he has to be perfect, because nothing else is going to do the trick. He needs to get out on that grass and let his brain turn off--not that it’s doing him too much good right now, anyway--and just let his body do its thing. He may not be able to dance on stage, but when he’s on the field, nobody would ever know that when he’s anywhere else, he’s got two left feet. On the field, he may as well be Mike Chang.

That’s his ticket out of here.

 

Burt and Carole announce that they’re all going to ride together, so the four of them show up at the stadium a good forty-five minutes before the game. Puck isn’t sure why they’re so early, except maybe so he and Kurt can stake out the usual row of the stands, and help Artie when he gets there. They do just that, stretching out on the stands with a blanket wrapped securely around a shivering Kurt. “Who are we playing again?”

“Defiance.” Puck shrugs. “I think we beat them easily last year, if it’s the team I’m thinking of.”

Kurt nods and starts to open his mouth when a voice interrupts him.

“Hi!” Rachel bounces up the stairs. “Isn’t this great? I think it looks like it could snow tonight, it’d be so pretty in the morning on the way to Sectionals. This weekend is going to be great.”

“Yeah, it does look like snow,” Puck agrees as Kurt nods. “Hopefully it’ll hold off until the end of the game.”

“Oh, I think they could play in the snow! Why not before the end?”

“Gotta get the lizard back home first,” Puck teases, moving closer to Kurt and letting Rachel hold down the end of the row. “Kurt’s actually cold-blooded.”

“Yes,” Kurt agrees, and he tightens his blanket. “I am.”

Everyone shows up after that, Tina with a tray of coffees and a huge bucket of popcorn, and by the time they all squeeze onto the stands, Puck isn’t complaining, since Kurt’s pressed against his side and no one is on Puck’s other side. Defiance has the first possession and Beiste yells furiously at the defense until they reach fourth down and punt. When the Titans take possession, Finn leads a drive that results in Mike scoring a touchdown, putting them up 7-0 before five minutes of the game has even passed.

By halftime, the Titans are up 21-0, and even Beiste looks cautiously pleased as they head towards the locker room. The team is playing in sync and Puck’s pretty sure Beiste is going to have to stop most of them from celebrating too early.

“Finn’s playing so well!” Rachel gushes, then looks across Kurt to Puck. “I mean, he is, isn’t he?”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, he is. He’s doing great. I’ll be interested to see what his stats are for this game.”

Whatever Beiste does in the locker room must work, because the second half of the game is actually better than the first. The final score is 52-0, seven touchdowns and one field goal, and most of the Titans fans spend most of the half on their feet screaming. Puck hopes someone is recording the game for Sam, Finn, and Karofsky all, because the game was amazing, especially for post-season play.

Burt hurries down the stands as the clock runs out and squeezes behind Puck and Kurt. “Finn was 24 for 25! I don’t know the exact yardage but it was definitely close to 400. That was amazing!”

“It was,” Kurt agrees. “There weren’t any of those fumble things or interceptions!”

“Finn’s gonna be over the moon,” Puck agrees. “Wisconsin gonna see this?”

“Yeah, I hope so! Listen, we’ll meet you boys out in the parking lot, okay?”

“See you there, Dad,” Kurt nods, and then they follow the rest of the Gleeks down the stairs to wait outside the locker rooms.

“We’re going to go get more coffee,” Mercedes offers, while they wait. “So that you have time to get home, boo. Mike and Tina are going to get some doughnuts to go with whatever Finn’s mom is cooking in the morning, and the others all have to go home to pick up their stuff, so you should have plenty of time before we descend.”

“Oh, good,” Kurt nods. “I didn’t think of that when Dad and Carole wanted to ride with us.”

Everyone emerges in a trickle and peels away until it’s just Kurt and Puck leaning against the wall, waiting for Finn to finish. “He always takes long showers,” Puck shakes his head. “Something about the water pressure at home?” He shrugs. “I dunno.”

At that moment, Finn emerges from the locker room, hair still dripping wet and a huge grin on his face. “We play ok tonight?”

“Eh, you think maybe you could managed to get a couple more touchdowns? I don’t think you spanked them enough.”

“Aw, come on,” Finn snorts. “I didn’t want to give them a complex or anything.”

“Too late,” Kurt breaks in, shaking his head in mock solemness. “I think I saw one of their linemen in tears.”

“Was it the one with the gut?” Finn asks. “‘Cause he oughta cry. He’s got a shitmouth. You shoulda heard what was coming out of him down there!”

“He was a lineman. They all have a gut,” Kurt points out. “Which one was it, Puck, do you remember the number?”

“Sixty-three?” Puck guesses. “Or Sixty-eight.”

Finn shrugs. “Oh well. I guess he’ll recover. How’d you like Mike’s run in the second half? That was _sweet_!”

“I thought Tina was going to have a heart attack when that linebacker almost took him down,” Kurt nods.

“Oh hey, you knew he was a linebacker?” Finn chuckles. “Good for you, man. It’s like a _family_ game now!”

“All these years, I guess it’s finally sinking in,” Kurt shrugs.

“Awesome,” Finn answers, jovially. “You guys want to get something to eat? I want something to eat! I’m starving!”

“There’s soup, bread, pop, ice cream, and at least five frozen pies at home,” Kurt says, smiling wryly. “Also, Mercedes and Sam went to get more coffee for everyone. I think we’re covered.”

“Yeah, we should probably get going, though, because no one can get in if no one is there.” Puck stops to think about that, then continues. “I mean, I could, because I know Finn and Carole both never lock the door to the deck, but I don’t think anyone else knows that.”

“There’s pie? Let’s hurry, then!” Finn says.

“It’s frozen, it won’t be ready right away. But the soup will be,” Kurt offers, as they start walking towards the parking lot, Kurt’s Nav next to Finn’s truck.

“Great game, honey!” Carole calls to Finn as they approach. “That was amazing!”

“Finn that was some kinda game you played out there, son,” Burt says, nodding his head and smiling. “Your mom and me, we were real proud of you.”

“Thanks, Burt,” Finn says. “I was proud of us, too. You see that catch Sam made? Tell you what, I was sure that was gonna be an incomplete. Dude’s got hands like duct tape!”

“Make sure you mention that later, that has to be a better nickname than trouty mouth,” Puck offers with a grin, opening the door to the Nav.

“Dude, anything is a better nickname than trouty mouth,” Finn says. “And that includes all the stuff Santana’s called _me_.”

“What about Finnessa? I was proud of that one!”

Finn just shakes his head. “Seriously? That’s barely even creative compared to some of the stuff I’ve been called. My favorite’s still frankenteen.”

“You boys,” Carole laughs, shaking her head. “I suppose we should get home, though.”

“Yes, everyone’s no doubt headed our way,” Kurt agrees, and they all climb into the Nav (except for Finn, who climbs into his truck).

“See you back at the house!” Finn calls, before slamming his door shut.

 

By some miracle, they arrive back at the house before anyone else, though only by about forty-five seconds, and within three minutes, the entire glee club is cramming into the living room, waiting for Carole to give the go-ahead from the kitchen. Burt comes to the doorway and clears his throat.

“Alright, so,” Burt begins, scanning the room. “Your parents were all very accommodating of this little sleepover, provided that I could promise to do my best to make sure everybody behaves. Boys, you’ll be sleeping in Finn’s room with Finn. Girls, you’ll be in Kurt’s room with Kurt. He’s the only one I trust not to act like some kind of savage the moment you ladies start getting ready for bed.” He levels a stern eye on the rest of the boys. “And before anybody gets any ideas, I give Kurt here full authority to...I don’t even know what. Make you sit through some kind of movie or something. Fashion shows. If you don’t behave yourselves.”

“I always behave!” Finn protests, though Rachel looks away quickly with a small, guilty expression on her face.

“Sure you do,” Sam calls, and everybody laughs, looking between Finn and Rachel.

“I’ll make them watch romantic comedies,” Kurt shrugs negligently. “It should prove an effective deterrent for most.”

“Well, Carole and I are gonna be keeping an eye and an ear out, too, but try not to get into any trouble, will ya?” Burt says. “I don’t want to have to answer to any angry parents.”

“We will, Mr. Hummel,” Mercedes says sweetly, and Tina and Brittany nod along with her.

“Soup’s ready!” Carole calls then, and Burt has to jump out of the way as six teenage boys jump up and barrel towards the doorway, the girls just a half-step behind them.

“Ooh, soup! I love mom’s soup!” Finn does a little jump up and down of excitement. “Is it the barley kind?”

“It is,” Carole nods. “Rachel, I made a vegetarian version for you with a few more vegetables and vegetable stock instead of beef stock.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. H,” Rachel says with a smile. “That’s very nice of you.”

“Is there enough of that to share, Mrs. Hudson?” Quinn asks sweetly. “I’m trying to keep my weight down. After eating those nachos at the game, I can barely see my abs anymore!”

“Oh, no, not her precious abs,” Puck mutters under his breath, lips next to Kurt’s ear. “God forbid she not have perfect abs.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, but his hip nudges against Puck’s for a few seconds too long for it to be accidental, and then they each grab a bowl of soup and some bread and find a seat at the dining room table, extra chairs pulled in from the kitchen as everyone sits down.

“This is fantastic!” Sam says after taking his first bite.

“Yeah, can I get the recipe?” Mike asks. “My mom might like this even though it’s not Asian.”

“This is great, Mrs. H.,” Artie says. “Really great!”

“This tastes just like soup!” Brittany chirps.

“It is so good,” Mercedes agrees. “So nice and warm, perfect idea.”

“Oh, it was Kurt’s idea,” Carole says with a smile. “There’s ice cream in the freezer and I’ve got apple pies in the oven; they’ll be ready in about an hour.”

“I love pie!” Finn says, slurping his soup a little. “Are they the kind with the cinnamony stuff?”

“Streusel topping,” Kurt confirms. “I love that stuff. I know, I know, it’s frozen and homemade is better but...”

“Me too,” Puck agrees. “That stuff is awesome.”

“I don’t know that I’ll have room for dessert,” Quinn says. “It’s so much harder to keep the weight off my hips now, anyway.” She makes a slightly disgusted face and Santana and Brittany both pat her on the shoulders sympathetically.

Puck rolls his eyes and stares determinedly at his bowl of soup, muttering under his breath. “Stom ta jora.”

Kurt bites his lip and looks at him sympathetically, but Rachel on his other side gasps. “Noah!”

Puck looks up at her and just shrugs. “What?”

“What’s that mean?” Finn asks, a little too loudly. “Rach? What’s that mean, what he said?”

“Nothing good!” Rachel says hurriedly, refusing to look around the table.

Quinn cuts her eyes over at Puck and gives him a cold, hard glance. “What was that, Puck? Did you say something?”

Puck grins humorlessly. “Just keeping in practice with my Hebrew.”

“Charming as always,” Quinn snaps.

“Puck is Charming,” Brittany says, nodding slowly. “Kurt is Cinderella. Finn, are you the ugly step-sister?” She looks Finn up and down.

“What?” Finn sputters. “No! I’m not a step-sister. Or ugly.”

“Britt-Britt,” Santana says gently. “Remember, the game isn’t over yet. And we shouldn’t say Finn is ugly, even if he does have those weird custard nipples.”

“Oh! That’s right. They’re still winning, right?” Brittany looks at Puck apologetically. “I’m sorry. You’re still the best.”

“Uh, thanks?” Puck does his best to act really confused.

“Finn’s nipples are not custardy! They are perfectly fine, manly nipples!” Rachel defends, but there’s enough urgency in her voice that Puck figures she’s trying to change the subject.

“Sure he does,” Santana say placatingly. “And how many other man nipples have you actually seen?”

“Enough nipple talk, ok?” Finn says, turning beet red. “Seriously. Enough. You’re gonna make me sick before the pie and then nobody gets pie. Got it?”

“We’ll form a pie liberation league,” Mike counters. “Right?”

“Absolutely,” Kurt nods. “More pie for the rest of us. Except.” Kurt sighs. “No, Finn’s right. No more nipples. Manly or otherwise.”

“Party pooper,” Santana says, then grins out of the side of her mouth at Kurt as she takes another bite of pie. “Let’s move on to boobs, then.”

“No! No boobs.” Kurt glares at Santana and then at Finn.

“I might be ok with that discussion, actually,” Finn says.

“I? I am _not okay_ with that discussion,” Kurt says firmly. “Unless we want to revisit that discussion about ass from earlier.”

“Nope. We’re good. Back to talking about pie.”

“You know, I’ve always been more of an ass man myself,” Artie says, ignoring Finn entirely.

“I have to agree with you,” Sam says, grinning at Mercedes, who ducks her head as if she’s embarrassed. Everyone can tell she’s smiling, though.

“I believe I already made my position clear,” Puck says, grinning. “I am all about a nice ass.” He looks over Mike and raises his eyebrow. “Mike?”

“I actually notice eyes first,” Mike admits, his own eyes fixed on Tina, who smiles at him.

“Aww, you two are adorable,” Mercedes grins.

“I think you can read it as a given that I’m going to be looking at the ass,” Kurt interjects, smirking slightly.

“I like noses,” Brittany says. “Also elbows.”

“ _I_ would like it if we’d stop talking about this,” Quinn says, pursing her lips.

Even Santana rolls her eyes this time. “Chill, Barbie. I think this is fascinating.”

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?” Quinn snaps. “Want to make sure that was money well spent?” She eyes Santana’s chest critically.

“Oh, I know it was,” Santana purrs. “No offense, boys, but none of you are really what I’m looking for, anyway.”

“You’re after more of a John Cena type, right?” Artie jokes. “Big muscles. No neck.”

“I don’t even know who that is,” Santana says, shaking her head.

“He has too many penises,” Brittany says.

It’s bad luck that some of them are taking a drink when Brittany speaks, and pop gets sprayed out around the table as what she says registers.

“Brittany,” Artie says, looking pained as he pushes his glasses up on his nose. “I’m pretty sure he only has one.”

“One is too many,” Brittany answers, like it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Duh. I can do math.”

Puck looks at Santana out of the corner of his eye, wondering how she’s going to respond. It’s not like they don’t all know. She glares around the table for a minute, then shrugs. “Whatever. It’s not like you don’t all know, anyway.”

There’s stunned silence for a moment before everyone starts talking at once, Rachel and Mercedes and Sam and Artie and even Tina and Mike’s voices overlapping.

“Will you wear your shirt now?” Brittany asks, over the sound of everyone else.

Santana’s hands are flat on the table, like she’s about to stand up, and she stops and looks at Brittany. “Yeah, okay,” she agrees, with a little smile. “But only around us.” She glares at all of them again. “This is like PFLAG, right?”

“Yes,” Kurt answers her. “It is.”

“Absolutely,” Finn says, giving everybody the same evil eye he usually reserves for the PFLAG meetings. “Doesn’t leave this room. This is a safe space. We even have some stickers upstairs.”

“Finn is a walking safe space,” Kurt says dryly, but he smiles at Finn.

“We should submit his picture to urban dictionary,” Mike offers.

“Yeah, whatever,” Santana says, almost dismissively, but she’s fighting back either a smile or tears as she stalks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a second can of pop.

“I’m so proud of you for telling everyone that you’re Lebanese,” Brittany says, softly, putting her arms around Santana and leaning her head onto Santana’s shoulder. “Now you can do the dance with us and we can all be happy. And I can kiss you in public now, right?”

“Sometimes, Britt-Britt,” Santana says after clearing her throat, not looking up. “Not everywhere, okay?”

“At glee club? And at Kurt’s house? And at Pat’s.”

“Maybe not always at Pat’s, but yeah.”

“But I like to kiss you at Pat’s. Your lips taste like doughnuts.” Brittany presses her lips against Santana’s. “Except now they taste like soup.”

“That’s so sweet,” Kurt whispers to Puck. “Not at all appealing, but sweet.”

Puck nods, fighting a laugh, noting the look on the other guys’ faces. Puck’s pretty sure they’re hoping that there will be more kissing.

“Sweet!” Artie whispers, and Puck is pretty sure he doesn’t mean it the way Kurt did. Finn also looks fascinated, his head tilted to the side in that puzzled puppy expression. Rachel notices, and pinches him on the arm.

“Ouch! Hey!” Finn says, rubbing his arm.

“Oh for fuck’s sake....” Santana shakes her head. “We are _not_ your personal porn, guys.” She glares at Finn, then Artie, followed by Mike and Sam, skipping over Puck and Kurt entirely.

“But where do the legs go?” Finn whispers to Puck. Puck just rolls his eyes and reaches around Rachel to smack him.

“Who cares, dude?”

“Hey!” Finn whines. “Ow! Stop beating me up, you two!”

“Can we _please_ stop talking about this?” Quinn huffs.

“Gotta problem, Quinnie?” Santana asks, all traces of tears or laughter cleared from her voice and face.

“Just with the boys acting like total pigs,” Quinn answers. “All of you disgust me.” She narrows her eyes at the boys as a whole, but seems to direct it specifically at Puck.

Puck rolls his eyes and clenches his jaw, throwing up his hands. “Tshiki, kalba!” he snarls at her, and this time, Rachel doesn’t gasp, she just pats his leg under the table.

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds awesome,” Santana says, grinning.

“Why is everybody so mad?” Brittany whispers, her eyes filling with tears. “Are they mad at us?”

“No, Brittany,” Kurt says. “No one’s mad at you, sweetie. Come sit back down.” He pats the seat that she vacated when Santana stood. “No one’s mad at Santana, either. Are they,” he adds, glaring at Quinn.

“No, of course not,” Quinn hastens to answer, her voice softening. “Brittany, it’s ok, see? Nobody’s mad now?” Quinn forces her face into the kind of smile that belongs on a cheating politician’s wife.

“No one’s mad, Britt,” Santana says, softer. “Okay? Let’s just sit down and talk about how we’re going to kick some serious Warbler and Trojammer ass tomorrow, okay?”

“Ok,” Brittany answers, her voice still a little tremulous. “I like the Trojammers. They have the best name.”

“Yeah, they do,” Mike agrees, smiling at her. “And hey, we’re like... a fourth queer. Isn’t that statistically unusual?”

“Not for a show choir,” Kurt snorts, raising his can in a mock-salute. “We’re actually a little behind the curve.”

“I’m straight enough to count for two guys,” Finn suggests. “Though, I guess Rachel couldn’t date both of us at the same time.”

“Two straight guys, one body,” Puck intones, voice deep. “Tune in next week for the continuing adventures of Finn Hudson, a firm zero on Kinsey.”

“I’m not a zero!” Finn insists, sounding offended. “I’m like a seven or eight out of ten at least.”

Kurt starts dying laughing, Santana and Tina right behind him.

“It’s on a scale from zero to six, dude,” Puck says through his own laughter. “Kurt’s a six. Trust me, you’re a zero.”

“So, zero means I’m straight? That’s still not a really nice way to say it,” Finn sulks. “Can’t they use letters or something to make it sound less judgy.”

“We hurt his punkin feelings,” Kurt says with a sigh. “Go dig up Alfred Kinsey and complain to him.”

“I might do that,” Finn huffs. The timer for the oven finally dings then, and the next half-hour is filled with pie and ice cream and much lighter topics until Carole comes in to usher them all up stairs.

“You boys sleep well,” she pokes her head into the room after a bit, everyone having brushed their teeth and re-entered Finn’s bedroom. “Noah, thanks for taking that trash out.”

“No problem, Carole,” Puck smiles at her. “Thanks for the soup.”

“My pleasure. Good night, Finn.”

“Ok, so that? Was hella awkward,” Artie says as soon as Carole leaves, arranging himself on his sleeping bag.

Puck snorts. “You think? Poor Brittany.”

“She was so sad,” Finn says, looking a little upset himself. “It’s awful to see Brittany sad. It’s like kicking a kitten or something. It’s just _wrong_.”

“I don’t understand why Santana wouldn’t admit it before. I mean, it’s not like it’s a huge deal. Sure, out there, but it’s just _us_.” Sam shrugs and lies back on his pillow.

Finn turns a scornful look on Sam. “Really, dude? ‘Cause we were just talking about how awkward that was, like, two seconds ago. And it was just us.”

“Yeah, but that was mostly Quinn,” Sam argues. “No one else gave her any crap.”

“Yeah, no one stared at them like they were the next best thing to Skinemax,” Puck adds, voice carefully neutral.

“We did kind of do that,” Finn agrees. “I mean, I only did because I have technical questions.”

“I did ‘cause it’s _hot_ ,” Artie volunteers. “I mean, it’s hot _now_. It wasn’t really all that hot last year.”

“Technical questions?” Puck snorts. “Are we back on that?”

“I felt bad about staring,” Mike volunteers. “I mean, I know better, and Tina hit me pretty quickly, so that’s something, but.”

“I just can’t make it work in my head,” Finn tries to explain. “I don’t even mean in a sexy way. It’s just confusing.”

“Maybe they’d draw us a diagram,” Sam offers.

Puck just shakes his head and lies down. “Yeah, you ask Santana, Sam. We elect you to ask.”

“Just remember that if you go over there, Kurt’s making you watch romantic comedies,” Finn says. “Burt’s orders.”

“Oh, well, then,” Sam backpedals. “Puck? You could go?”

“I am not asking Santana for a diagram,” Puck states. “No way.”

“Me either,” Finn quickly adds. “Remember what Karofsky said about the razors in her hair.”

“I don’t think I really want to know, actually,” Mike says, looking puzzled.

“Speaking of Karofsky, what’s the scoop on his recruiting?” Puck says, trying to change the subject.

“Last I heard, looked like he might be headed to Georgia Tech,” Finn says. “He seemed pretty stoked about it.”

“That’s in Atlanta, so yeah, that’s cool,” Puck responds with a nod.

“Nice weather or something?” Artie asks. “It’s probably really hot there, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Puck says, exchanging a glance with Finn.

“And those Southern girls are supposed to be pretty smokin’,” Artie adds.

“Yeah, I’m sure Karofsky’s keeping all of that in mind,” Finn says.

“It’s looking like LSU’s at the top of my stack,” Sam offers. “I like Rhodes but LSU’s got a better program.”

“Hey, you hear about USC yet?” Puck asks Artie.

“Not yet,” Artie answers. “They told us not to expect anything until December 15th. You guys know you’ll hear about it when I do, anyway.”

“You have to go there if you get in, right?” Mike asks. “Early decision, not early action?”

“Wouldn’t matter to me either way,” Artie says. “I’m going if I get in!”

“I know that feeling,” Puck agrees, and Mike nods, too. “Mike and I will suffer it out until April while the rest of you sit pretty.”

“Yep,” Mike agrees mournfully. “Auditions are the last weekend in February for Boston.”

“First weekend in March for Mannes and MSM both,” Puck shakes his head. “Three months to freak out about it.”

“If Wisconsin’s gonna make me an offer, I’ll probably hear from them by mid-January,” Finn says. “That’s hard enough to wait for.”

“We should sleep,” Sam says, through a yawn. “We have to go make the other teams cry.”

“That’s, like, the theme for my weekend,” Finn chuckles. “Making the other guy cry. Boo-freaking-hoo, Warblers.”

 

Kurt wants to laugh at the way Rachel, Tina, and Mercedes all giggle and tell their boyfriends good night, but it just reminds him that he can't really tell Puck good night the way he'd like to. He waits until Puck is taking his turn in the bathroom and sends him a quick text. If Kurt holds his phone, answering text displayed, against his chest for a moment, well. Who's going to know?

Kurt wants to be fondly exasperated at the way Santana and Brittany roll up one of the sleeping bags and claim an air mattress together, but it just reminds him that once again, there's a double standard, even for the queers.

Kurt wants to treat Quinn like he's pissed beyond belief at her, because her issues and her attitude were the only thing making people upset downstairs, but it just reminds him that there's no particular reason, as far as everyone else knows, for her words and opinions to particularly affect him.

Kurt climbs up into his bed and pats the duvet beside him when Rachel walks back in the room from the bathroom, and she smiles and slips under the covers beside him. "Protecting my virtue?"

"No, you're protecting mine." Kurt pauses and tilts his head. "My non-existent virtue, at this point," he concedes in a whisper.

Rachel giggles and they wait for the rest of the girls to filter in.

“Are we going to have another pillow fight?” Brittany asks, looking worried. “I only brought one pillow.”

“No.” Kurt clutches his pillow. “I won’t risk it.”

Mercedes laughs. “How much did you pay for that pillow, boo?”

“It’s not the cost. It’s that it’s absolutely perfect and I won’t chance having to sleep on a spare.” He shrugs. “It actually wasn’t that much, for a pillow.”

“How much is ‘not that much for a pillow’ exactly?” Quinn asks, her tone not exactly snarky, but not exactly pleasant.

Kurt raises his eyebrows at her, because if she wants to do battle, he’s ready. “Not that it’s technically any of your business, but it was forty dollars. Considering most down pillows are running at least sixty these days, it’s not that much.”

“Sixty dollars for a pillow?” Rachel shakes her head.

“Sweetie, you’re going to have trouble next year,” Kurt chides her gently. “Everything costs more in the city. Not just pillows.”

“I know,” Rachel sighs.

“Does it do anything?” Brittany asks, a little breathlessly, like she’s very excited about a trick-performing pillow. Her eyes are riveted on the pillow.

“It supports my neck perfectly,” Kurt answers. “It also seems to repel stains nicely.” His eyes widen a little as he realizes what he just said. “And it, uh, doesn’t poke like a cheap down pillow would.”

Brittany nods, wide-eyed. Quinn makes a little face. “I’m surprised you don’t have one of those cruelty-free synthetic pillows,” she says. “Isn’t down unethical or something like that?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kurt snaps. “Get the stick out of your ass, Quinn.”

Quinn recoils, shocked. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, and her face flushes unattractively. “Excuse me?” she stammers. She looks at Santana for support. Santana just shrugs, a small little smile playing on her lips.

“You’ve been acting like we’ve all done something to mortally offend you, ever since we got here,” Kurt barrels on. “And _no one_ has.” He registers Rachel’s hand on his back, rubbing in circles, and he takes a deep breath before looking to Rachel and nodding his thanks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quinn protests. “I was just asking about your pillow. I thought you were obsessed with all that organic stuff.” She sniffs a little.

“Kurt’s right,” Mercedes says gently, “even if he should have put it differently.” She shoots him a look. “I told you you were spending too much time with the straight boys,” she says to Kurt before turning back to Quinn. “Quinn, sweetie, what’s going on?”

Quinn opens her mouth, whether to argue or say something snide, Kurt isn’t sure, but then she shuts it again. Her shoulders slump. “A couple of Defiance’s cheerleaders...said some things.”

Kurt studies her closely. Given her comments earlier, it’s relatively easy to guess what the ‘things’ were about. “Things about what?” Tina asks gently.

Quinn sighs and straightens her back, lifting her head into her studied beauty queen pose. “They were talking about that cheerleader at McKinley from a few years ago that they heard about. The one that got knocked up.” She looks challengingly at Kurt.

Kurt just raises his eyebrows, head cocked to one side, waiting for her to continue. If she’s expecting sympathy or mocking, either one, she’s going to be disappointed.

“Oh, that sucks,” Tina offers, looking sadly at Quinn. “People can be so mean.”

“Yes, well, I don’t like having it thrown in my face in the middle of a public sporting event,” Quinn sniffs. “I don’t think they knew it was anyone who was actually still on the squad, but they weren’t very flattering.”

“Poor Quinn,” Brittany sigh, getting and coming over to Quinn, draping an arm across her shoulders, which Quinn accepts, but doesn’t relax into.

“People just shouldn’t talk about things like that,” Mercedes shakes her head, not displaying a trace of irony in her statement. Kurt sighs. He knows the script; he knows he should say something, make nice, pretend that he doesn’t know any other side of the story. He does know other parts of the story, though, and that makes it difficult to even think of what to possibly say.

“Well, we kicked their asses. They couldn’t even hold their pyramid for fifteen seconds,” Santana offers. “I heard that last year, their best cheerleader managed to get one partial scholarship for college... to community college.”

“I heard that one of their cheerleaders has a tail,” Brittany adds. “I looked for it, but I didn’t see it. It might have been under their skirts, but I didn’t look there.”

“That was probably a good thing, Brittany,” Kurt says calmly. “They might not have understood what you were doing.”

“Thank you, Tina, Mercedes, Santana, Brittany,” Quinn says. “That was a difficult time in my life and I’m doing my best to put it behind me. It’s hard when people I don’t even know drag it out in front of everyone.” She smooths out her pajamas. “It’s not like I don’t get reminded every time I change clothes.”

Kurt works very hard not to roll his eyes. He’s heard Puck talk about this often enough that it’s beginning to push his buttons, too. Yes, of course, put it behind her, talk about stretch marks, that’s all it is and ever will be. Except Kurt knows better, knows that Beth exists, that she has a little cat named George and spent Thanksgiving with all her relatives, that she looks just like Puck sometimes. Knowing that, it’s hard to listen to Quinn, and even harder to try to come up with something to say.

He and Rachel sit on the bed quietly, and after a moment, Rachel’s hand snakes into his, squeezing it, and he exchanges a brief smile with her. Beth probably brings up a different set of thoughts and issues for Rachel.

“We aren’t those people,” Rachel finally says, softly. “I can’t imagine how you must feel, but you were rather rude tonight. I thought we were all just playing with Kurt, for instance. It’s not Kurt’s fault, or Santana’s, or anyone else’s.”

“Sometimes it’s just difficult to be around...certain people,” Quinn admits, her tone neutral and her face a mask. “I should haven’t have taken it out on you, Kurt. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Kurt says quietly, not raising his eyes from the duvet. He squeezes hard on Rachel’s hand, trying to remind himself to just get through the conversation.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Santana says abruptly. “Like tomorrow. What kind of costume do you think the Warblers will have? Maybe... blazers?”

“I like their blazers,” Brittany says. “We should perform in those next time.”

“Never again!” Kurt proclaims. “Never! The real question is whether or not Blaine’s hair will move at all during their set.”

Mercedes laughs. “Damn, boo, you aren’t a bitter ex at all.”

“I dumped his short ass,” Kurt shrugs. “I figure that entitles me to make fun of him. Right?”

“Does it?” Rachel asks. “I suppose so. What was the final straw, again?”

“He told me Pride was too queer.”

They all laugh, even Quinn. “Too queer? For you?” Mercedes snorts.

“Is that possible?” Tina giggles.

“It totally wasn’t, by the way,” Kurt shakes his head.

 

Puck wakes up early, frowning as he looks at the clock. Six. They didn't have to get up until seven at least; stupid body. Puck rolls off the air mattress anyway and pulls his jeans back on and then grabs a sweatshirt, planning to head to the bathroom and then, yeah, probably into Kurt's room. He's walking down the hall when he notices the window, though.

It's snowing, finally.

Not just snowing, though, but blowing, blizzard-like, and Puck grins, even as he has to wonder about the fate of Sectionals. It's snowing _hard_ and the trucks and plows obviously aren't running yet. He slides quietly into Kurt's room and his grin widens. The girls are all piled on the floor, except for Rachel, who's sleeping in Kurt's bed. Puck quietly climbs between them and lies on his back.

"Wake up," he whispers.

"Mmph. Noah? What are you doing in here?"

"Waking you two up." Puck shrugs and kisses the tip of Kurt's nose. "Wake up, K."

"Hmm?" Kurt blinks and then smiles, rolling over close to Puck and throwing an arm over him. "Good morning."

"It is. Dorothy, Toto–we have an adventure waiting for us."

"You shouldn't call Kurt a dog!"

"I didn't. Stop yapping, Toto," Puck smirks, and Rachel rolls her eyes.

"What adventure?" Kurt asks.

"It's snowing. Seriously snowing, blizzard-like. We need to get out there in it before everyone else does, and it gets all grey and walked-through."

"But it's cold out there, and you're warm," Kurt complains. "Get under my covers. You can pretend to be Rachel."

"Of all the girls, I think she's the least believable one, K. On account of her being a foot shorter."

"Damn." Kurt stretches. "All right. I'll go outside. Rachel, are you in for this foolhardy mission?"

"Sure!"

Rachel and Kurt dress quietly, and Puck goes back to Finn's room to grab his socks, coat, and gloves before they all three traipse quietly down the stairs, slipping on boots. Kurt stops in the kitchen to start the coffee maker, and Puck wonders how they'll keep up with the demand if they can't leave the house. Everyone's cars are snow-covered lumps, and the porch stairs alone have a good six inches resting on them.

"This is awesome," Puck breathes, watching the snowflakes swirl around them. "You can barely see across the road!"

"It actually is," Kurt agrees quietly, and then he turns around, flinging a snowball at the back of Puck's head.

"Ow! That's cold!"

"It's snow, of course it's cold!"

"But that's my bare skin," Puck grumbles.

"You should wear a hat, then, Noah," Rachel says, aiming her own snowball at Puck's head.

"Ow! Dammit, I don't even own a hat." Puck sulks as he grabs handfuls of snow and tosses them at both Rachel and Kurt.

"Actually, you do." Kurt is carefully packing snowballs and stockpiling them on the hood of the Nav. "I bought you one when I bought your gloves, on the off chance that you could be persuaded to wear it."

Puck just stares at Kurt for a moment and shakes his head. "Sometimes you're kind of spooky, blue eyes."

"I try," Kurt acknowledges. "Do you want it before we commence this three-way fight?"

"We're having a three-way fight?" Rachel asks.

"Why do you think I was stockpiling? Clearly the Nav is my fort." Kurt shrugs.

"Yeah, I do," Puck concedes.

"I'll go get it, then, while the two of you attempt to match my ammunition stores."

Kurt slips into the house and Puck sets to work, claiming Finn's truck as his own base and making snowballs as fast as he can. "Kurt's very methodical about this for someone who didn't want to climb out of bed."

"Yeah," Puck agrees, not looking up. "He really is." Kurt comes back out and shuts the door behind him.

"Carole's up now. She said she doesn't think we'll have Sectionals today, they're staying it'll be at least ten before the trucks can go out."

Rachel makes a face as Kurt walks over and pulls a hat onto Puck's head, kissing him softly before stepping back.

"Relax, Rachel, it just means more rehearsal time," Puck offers, watching Kurt walk back to the Nav.

"That's true!"

"On the count of three," Kurt calls out. "One… two… three!"

The next ten minutes are a blur of throwing snow, running around the yard and dodging each other's snowballs. Rachel turns out to be a ferocious little demon with snowballs, and Puck quickly abandons all hope of winning, grabbing his remaining ammunition and making a run for the Nav.

"Can I just be on your team?"

"Of course." Kurt grins and returns to tossing snow at Rachel, who shrieks when a particularly well-packed snowball dislodges her hat and then trickles into her collar. Another five minutes passes before Rachel surrenders, waving her striped glove in the air.

"Let's make snow angels!"

"I haven't made snow angels since I was nine," Puck confesses, and he flops down into the snow in the backyard alongside Kurt and Rachel.

"Let's do this next year," Rachel says softly. "The first big snow, we'll meet in Central Park. Okay?"

"Okay," Puck agrees, Kurt's voice echoing his agreement.

 

Finn wakes up to a shrill noise outside his window. It sounds almost like whooping. No, it sounds _exactly_ like whooping, coupled with Rachel's familiar laugh and an occasional deeper exclamation that Finn thinks might be Puck.

Slipping on a pair of socks first, Finn carefully steps around Mike's sprawled, sleeping body on the floor and looks out the window. It fogs almost immediately with Finn's breath, so he swipes his hand across the glass. At first, he thinks he must not have wiped hard enough, because everything out the window is still blurry and white. Then Finn realizes that it's snowing, and not just a flurry or even the soft, heavy snow from earlier in the week. It's coming down hard and fast, whiting out everything beyond the mailbox and turning anything further than a foot or so beyond Finn's window into a fuzzy blur of color against white.

The first shape that makes sense to Finn is Rachel's bright pink puffy coat, the one she saves for outdoor events like football games. Next, Finn is able to pinpoint Kurt by a strip of color that's probably one of his scarves. That makes the bigger dark shape Puck. Finn forces his eyes to focus through the white and realizes that the three out in the yard are throwing snowballs, shrieking and laughing like small children.

Finn's first instinct is to run and put on his own coat, joining them, but something buried deep in the back of his brain nags at him and tells him not to do that, so he continues to lean against the window, fogging and wiping it, watching and trying to figure out why he shouldn't go out there.

It really only takes a few minutes before Finn realizes what's wrong. It's that he doesn't belong there. What they're sharing isn't a couple against couple battle just waiting for Finn to join in as the missing fourth; it's a three person free-for-all between friends, people who share something important between them. Something Finn doesn't share.

What he's watching isn't really a snowball fight happening in Finn's front yard. It's a preview of a future that only includes him in the most peripheral fashion.

Finn presses his forehead against the glass, even though it's so cold that it hurts, and he watches.

 

When they head in at last, they go in through the sliding glass door to the kitchen, stamping their feet on the deck and knocking the snow off their coats. Puck enters first and grins at Finn, who’s sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in his hands. “Hey, dude. You should’ve come out there, that snow is awesome.”

Finn smiles, a little sadly, and shrugs. “Looked cold out there.” He stands and gives Rachel a long hug. “You’re cold. You want a cup?”

“Please,” Rachel nods enthusiastically, slipping out of her coat.

“It is cold,” Kurt agrees, unwrapping his scarf and then removing his boots. “But fun. And Puck learned about the importance of winter hats.”

“Hey, it’s _skin_!”

“Sounds like an important thing to learn,” Finn agrees.

They each grab a cup of coffee as the others slowly make their way down, and Puck registers that there’s something cooking in the oven, probably put there by Carole earlier. Mike and Tina’s doughnuts get dragged out, and they’re all sitting around the table when Finn’s phone rings loudly.

“Hello?” Finn says, answering without even looking at who’s calling. “Mr. Schuester? Uh huh. Yeah, we saw.” He pauses, puts his hand over the phone. “It’s Mr. Schue.” He puts the phone back to his ear. “Ok, I’m gonna put you on speaker, ok?” Finn presses the button and Schue’s voice fills the kitchen.

“Uh, who’s there?”

“Everybody,” they chorus.

“Oh, well, okay,” Schue laughs a little. “Listen, they’ve already decided to postpone Sectionals until next week. It’s barely snowed at all in Columbus, but they’re saying it’s going to be 10 am or maybe later before the trucks can get out here in Lima, so that’s probably a good decision.”

“Damn,” Mike says. “We were ready.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to make sure not to over-rehearse,” Schue says, laughing. “Don’t want to get over-prepared and choke, right? Anyway, I guess since you’re all there, you all know now.”

‘Uh, yeah, we’ll do our best not to be too prepared, Mr. Schue,” Finn says, mouthing ‘he’s insane’ to Kurt. “Thanks for letting us know.”

“I’ll see you kids on Monday. Have fun today!”


	3. Snowed (a 3x12 bonus fic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sticks and stones and snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains references to domestic abuse and self harm.
> 
> At risk of using this fic as a soapbox (well, fuck it, I'm using this fic as a soapbox), if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic abuse, please contact the [National Domestic Abuse Hotline](http://www.thehotline.org/) (there's a quick escape button for the site) 1.800.799.SAFE(7233) for help and resources in your area. The [Trevor Project](http://www.thetrevorproject.org/lifelinechat) also has a 24/7 call line and online chat. If you need them, please use them. If you need help finding international resources for DV, please lets us know by comment (anonymous is fine). Rav has access to a lot of information & resources. **We love you and want you to be safe.** /soapbox

To: “David”  
From: “Casey”  
Sent: Fri 2 December 2011 23:07:00  
Subject: Great game!

David

That was a really awesome game tonight! I thought for sure that #82 was going to flatten you but you totally put him on his butt! Guess that probably shows I don’t know enough about football but mainly I was just glad you didn’t get hurt. The guy looks like he could crush a garbage truck or something but I think you knocked him back about three or four feet!

Casey

 

To: “Case”  
From: “Dave”  
Sent: Fri 2 December 2011 23:34:00  
Subject: Re: Great game!

Thanks, Case! Yeah, that guy was huge but I think Defiance must be slacking on their weight training. Did you see the guy actually bawling after the game? Dude needed to save it for the showers.

I bet it was freezing--I was cold even with moving around until after halftime. Supposed to be some snow coming in, one of the lake effect blizzards. Lucky us.

Dave

 

To: “David”  
From: “Casey”  
Sent: Fri 2 December 2011 23:42:00  
Subject: Re: Great game!

Half the time the weather guys say we’ll get a blizzard we don’t. Of course the other half of the time they say we will, we do, and it’s worse than they said. I think they decide with a coin toss. Either way I’m glad I don’t have any place I have to be tomorrow I guess. So I won’t get blizzarded out.

It was a little cold on the bleachers. I think I got frostbite and died and that was really sad, but I came back to life when I remembered that I said I’d email you after. And it would be rude to not email if I say I will, so I came back to life.

Casey

 

da.karofsky: hey  
rhinofishes: oh hi!  
rhinofishes: i saw you were on but you had your away message up  
da.karofsky: yeah my cousin likes to send me messages all the time. he’s twelve going on forty-five.  
rhinofishes: thats cool. i odn’t have any cousins  
rhinofishes: well maybe I might but none that ive ever met  
da.karofsky: you aren’t missing much, trust me. i think just now unthawed my feet from being ice blocks.  
rhinofishes: i had to borrow someone’s cup of coffee and use it to melt myself off the bleachers.  
rhinofishes: it was SAD :(  
da.karofsky: yeah, too bad you couldn’t drink the coffee!  
rhinofishes: yeah I meant to bring some $ for coffee but totally forgot oh well  
da.karofsky: you need one of those phones that talks to you to remind you  
rhinofishes: totally, it can also do my homework for me too, right?  
rhinofishes: brb  
da.karofsky: k. if you find one like that i want one too!  
da.karofsky: ...you go to sleep, Case? ;)  
rhinofishes: back sorry  
rhinofishes: my dad wanted to know where the screwdriver went  
da.karofsky: your dad is a dedicated home improvement dude if he needs a screwdriver now! :)  
rhinofishes: he noticed it wasn’t in his kit  
rhinofishes: thought i put it somewhere  
rhinofishes: i didn’t but u know how it is  
rhinofishes: maybe i did put it somewhere and dont remember  
rhinofishes: anyway  
da.karofsky: parents. hey, look outside!  
rhinofishes: oh wow that is a LOT of snow  
rhinofishes: curse you weatherguys! curse your rightness!  
da.karofsky: yeah this is crazy!  
rhinofishes: guess they won the coin toss  
rhinofishes: gota go  
 _rhinofishes is offline_

 

Casey and Amy both keep a low profile all morning. It’s bad enough that she has to go into her shift late, but the shop called and let Mick know they weren’t opening today, and intermittent crashing and swearing has been coming from the living room ever since. After a hollered “you’d better not be on that fucking computer,” Casey decides the best plan is to go out and shovel the front walk and the driveway without being told. While he’s out there, he carefully scrapes the snow and ice off of his dad’s windshield and gets all the snow cleared from his mom’s car, so that she can get into it without getting snow all over her uniform.

After Amy leaves for work, it’s quieter for a while. Mick turns on “Repo Games” and cackles at the “stupid idiots” who can’t manage to keep a job or their car, but at least he’s ignoring everything not on the television. He opens a beer and grabs a bag of pretzels, grumbling a little about pretzels not being a good lunch, and if he were working, he could at least grab a dog at Joey’s.

Casey thinks this might be a good opportunity to shoot David an email and apologize for disappearing in the middle of their conversation, not that he’s expecting David to be bothered by it or anything. It’s just polite to let someone know, is all.

 

To: “David”  
From: “Casey”  
Sent: Sat 3 December 2011 13:24:00  
Subject: sorry

David

Sorry I disappeared last night. I didnt’ mean to be rude. My dad wanted to look in my room for his screwdriver so I had to go and help. I hope you’re having a good snow day!

Casey

 

To: “Case”  
From: “Dave”  
Sent: Sat 3 December 2011 15:32:00  
Subject: Re: sorry

No problem. Did your dad find his screwdriver? I hope his project was indoors.

I have to admit, I dragged my dad outside to make snowmen. I put my jacket on one and he put an old suit coat on his. It was horribly cold but a good excuse for hot chocolate and soup, right?

Did your mom still have to go to work? I hope she didn’t have trouble getting there.

Dave

 

Casey smiles when he reads David’s email. The image of David and his father dressing snowmen up in their clothes is so sweet, it kind of hurts Casey’s heart to read it. He can’t really imagine making snowmen with his dad, or _wanting_ to, even.

He starts typing his reply when Mick yells from the living room. “I told you to stay off that fucking internet, Casey!”

Casey shuts his laptop as quickly as possible before his dad appears in his doorway. “I’m sorry! I got the walk shoveled and everything, and I thought it would be ok.” Casey tries his best to hold himself straight, not to give Mick any more fodder than he already has, while still sounding apologetic and respectful. He never really gets the balance right.

Mick snarls a little. “Do something _useful_ instead of playing on that damn piece of shit.”

“Okay, I will, just tell me what you need me to do,” Casey says, standing up. “I can go get the snow out of the back so it doesn’t rust the grill, if you want me to.”

“You’re fifteen!” Mick says with a little growl. “You should be able to figure out what’s useful. Get out of my sight, you waste of space.”

“I’m sorry, dad,” Casey breathes, “I’m really sorry.” He hurries towards his bedroom door, planning to head outside and do something _useful_ , and accidentally brushes against Mick in the process. Mick staggers a little. _Oh, no. No, no, no,_ Casey thinks.

“You trying to kill your old man, huh? Think you can step into my shoes? Be cock of the walk around here?”

“No! Dad, no, I’m sorry, it was an accident, I swear!” Casey scrambles backwards, away from Mick. “I didn’t mean to, dad!” He hears his voice getting higher and higher, breaking on the vowels, and he flinches at the sound of himself.

“You’re such a pussy! ‘I didn’t mean to!’” Mick imitates Casey in a high-pitched voice. When Casey cringes, Mick makes a face of utter disgust and backhands him across the mouth. “What a joke.”

Casey tastes salt and iron as he stumbles back against his bedroom door. He catches himself with his elbows and digs in, not allowing himself the luxury of falling or sliding down the door. The pain in his elbows is almost pleasant by comparison, because at least it’s something Casey controls. He digs into the door a little harder and pushes himself up onto his feet. Casey looks at Mick and doesn’t sway on his feet.

“I’m sorry, dad,” he repeats, doing his best to control his breathing. “It won’t happen again. I’ll go take care of the back. I should have taken care of it already. You shouldn’t have had to come tell me.” Casey feels a little line of blood trickling down his chin. He doesn’t bring his hand up to wipe it away.

“Yeah, you’re sorry,” Mick sneers, but turns away, walking back fully into the living room and sitting down heavily, grabbing his beer bottle with a grunt.

Only after Mick is back in his chair does Casey use the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his chin. His lip stings, but he goes and pulls on his coat and heads outside to clear off the tiny concrete square and make sure the grill is dry. Mick’s right; Casey should have known what needed to be done and had it done already. Mick shouldn’t have had to come back there. Casey’s so stupid sometimes, he thinks as he uses the microfiber towels to get all the melted snow off the grill. He should have remembered about the back when he shoveled the front.

Mick doesn’t even acknowledge Casey when he comes in from the back, and Casey moves quietly towards his bedroom. Once he’s there, he closes his bedroom door, even more quietly, takes off his coat and rolls up his left sleeve, before pulling out a mostly-empty pack of his dad’s cigarettes. He puts the filter in his mouth while he lights it, watching the tip go cherry-red-hot. Once it’s glowing, he takes the burning tip and presses it against the inside of his arm, in between the fading dots of old burns.

It hurts, but Casey doesn’t cry. He may be a pussy, but he’s not a cry-baby, and he’ll feel better after. He always feels a little better after _that_.


End file.
